Judge, Jury and Executioner
by ineedyoursway
Summary: After a century in the Volturi Guard, Edward receives the ultimate gift: his singer.
1. some say the world will end in fire

Is it ever going to be enough?

Searching for purpose like the mislead soldier returning from war, scorned with the feeling of blood on his hands and blood on his heart. He prays to his God, asks him for forgiveness, asks him for absolution, kneels down, bows his head, begs.

_To be forestallèd ere we come to fall_

_Or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up._

_My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer_

_Can serve my turn, "Forgive me my foul murder"?_

Like drowning, like dying, like searching for purpose and pleasure and purchase. In my life of nonexistence I grapple with air, stone, wall, brick, but I find no ledge, nothing to grasp onto, nothing to keep me from falling into the abyss. What God forgives the being with no soul, with no life, with no self? What God will take my absolution into His blessed palm and create new life in endless death? There is none.

_Try what repentance can. What can it not?_

_Yet what can it when one can not repent?_

_O wretched state! O bosom black as death!_

_O limèd soul that, struggling to be free,_

_Art more engaged! Help, angels. Make assay._

Sin is the sponge that draws the human aspects from me. It takes and pulls like the blood I yearn to steal from innocents, the unsaturated thirst that pushes me like moons and waves and currents. To be satiated, to feel whole, to have life, to create being; that is impossibility. I pull myself down as knees crash to stone and look up to sky, to stars, to heaven.

Forgive me, absolve me, save me, help me.

Someone—anyone—give me the courage to feel life in never-ending night.

_Bow, stubborn knees, and, heart with strings of steel,_

_Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe._

_All may be well. _

#

You know when you're in a crowded room full of people and it's almost impossible to hear yourself think? That is what it's like for me. All of the time. Over the years I suppose I've gotten used to it. I've blocked out the majority of the incessant rambling. But there are still the shouters, the people that see everything in vivid detail, and the obnoxious, self-centered egomaniacs. I am surrounded mostly by the latter. No, I am surrounded completely by the latter.

I am a freak.

That is what the rest of them think. They don't understand me in the same way they don't understand Carlisle. But Carlisle isn't like me in any way, shape, or form. Carlisle is just so … he is so self-sacrificing. He stays with me even though I know he wants to be far, far away. He stays with me even though he has a family across the globe; a family with a wife who loves him irrevocably. He stays with me because of the guilt that must fall on his shoulders. At least, that's what he tells me. And he hasn't left my side in ninety-nine years.

They think we are freaks because of our diet. I suppose they're right, really. After all, the tales of vampire don't exactly include feeding on squirrels at dinner and deer at breakfast. I actually never have squirrels. Small rodents taste both burnt and sour at the same time. But what they don't understand is just because I don't dine as they do doesn't mean I don't have the same thirst, the same urges. When I see them feast, when I see the succulent flesh puncture effortlessly to the pointed teeth of my companions, I want what they have. I want my mouth on the artery. I want my body to pull the lines of beating, warm, thick blood from the wound. I want my arms to strangle the struggles and the cries. I want my throat to be satiated; satiated on the blood of that which I crave: the human.

But I won't.

For every minute that I keep Carlisle away from his love, his life, I will not. I am indebted to him for as long as he feels indebted to me. Thankfully for us, we have but a few days left of obligation in this cruel purgatory. Only a few more days of skirting through the shadows on the stone Volterra streets. Only a few more days of watching our comrades devour their prey. Only a few more days of using my talent to aid the Volturi in any way that I can. And then we are to be given leave. Carlisle shall join his family, the one that eagerly awaits his arrival in Ithaca, New York. I … well; I will not follow that path. My only intension is to not disappoint Carlisle in the countless ways I have done before. I am not sure I will succeed.

I stand near the far wall as the group files in. They are predominately made up of tourists, though I can hear a few native thoughts interspersed. Heidi seems very proud of her catch. I can tell by the way she flaunts her assets as she lines up the prey, and the way she eagerly anticipates the approval from her superiors for her fantastic work. I dig my fingernails into the stone behind my back, telling myself not to become overwhelmed by the sheer amount of blood in the room. Gallons upon gallons of blood. Warm and salty and human blood. No.

I take a deep breath through my nose and stifle a groan.

"Edward, son, check for natives?"

I do not know why Aro always chooses to speak to me aloud. The rest of the Volturi tend to take advantage of my gift, only speaking aloud when there are multiple people in the room. I am constantly answering to thoughts, and it is rare that I actually hear a person's voice. Aro, though, is entirely the opposite. He is able to block almost all of his thoughts from me through concentration. Only bits and pieces seep through. It is something akin to jealousy, I believe. He doesn't approve of vampires having the upper hand around him, even if he is only thinking trivial thoughts.

"Yes," I nod and quickly scan through the thoughts of the humans. I pluck a few from the group. Though they are wearing clothes that signify a tourist, they are actually native to Volterra. They are husband and wife, and they run a small shop in the center of the town. They sell small commemorative items like key chains with names on them, and postcards of fields and towers. The man knows exactly where he is. He has heard stories of this place, this dungeon. His wife, on the other hand, is in complete awe. She is slower than he is mentally, and her thoughts primarily consist of the vastness of the space. She wonders how many of her it would take to reach the ceiling of the room. I know the answer is twenty-seven. "Those two," I say, pointing to the man and his wife.

Aro sighs, running a hand through his long, dark hair. He doesn't like it when natives get this far into the process, but he still wants to keep his record of no Volterra citizen casualties due to vampires.

"Heidi," Aro says calmly, though the entire room knows that he is disappointed. Heidi frowns and scowls at me, knowing I am the one who caught her flaw. She walks fluidly over to Aro. Some of the tourists watch in awe, admiring her grace.

"Yes, Aro?" she says sweetly. Her thoughts are always bordering on nauseating.

"Mistakes are not tolerated. You know that," he scolds as if she is a child. Heidi bows her head accordingly, though not before shooting daggers at me on her way down. I roll my eyes and leave the room. That is all I am needed for here, and I surely cannot stay for when they consume. _Consume_. I even shudder at the word. In the back of my mind I realize that one of the humans has noticed my departure. She is younger, about fourteen or fifteen, though her mind doesn't specify. She wonders why I am leaving. She wonders why my eyes are a different color than the rest of them. She wonders if she is going to die soon.

It is strange, for it is always the youngest minds that know they are going to die before the older ones. The elders are more trained to block out the bad and ignore it, whereas the children see exactly what is put in front of them. They see through the facades of pleasantry and luxury. They feel the tension in the pale-skinned bodies that watch them, eyes hungry with want. They know their life is ending before it does just by the way the air tastes – cold and dead and lifeless.

I ignore her entirely, though I do quicken my pace infinitesimally. It is many yards away before I feel like I am able to breathe again. I am out of range of the thoughts. I know from prior experience that any glimpse into the mind of a vampire feeding is my quickest and shortest downfall. I cross my arms over my chest, the Volturi robes sweeping out from beneath them and trailing along the floor. The thick black fabric is weightless to me, and beneath it all I wear is dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

Carlisle is in his study pouring over his extensive collection of books when I find him. This is where he is the majority of the time. I cannot fathom how he continues to find new revelations in the words he's memorized after the first read. I myself become quickly bored with them. After one read, the mystery is gone. After enough reads of the same genre, I can predict the endings of books unread. But Carlisle—he peruses the same texts over and over again. He is constantly searching.

His golden eyes flit upwards to meet mine when I enter the room. He nods politely in greeting, then returns to his researching.

"What are you looking for this time?" I ask, sitting down at a rocking chair in the corner of his study. Every wall is lined with books from floor to ceiling. There are no windows, for there cannot be underground. There are even piles upon piles of books on the floor, stacking upwards in haphazard reaches toward the heavens.

"Nothing in particular," he answers, doing me the courtesy of using his voice. _Just passing time_, he thinks as an afterthought.

Just passing time. That is the entirety of my existence. Frozen and stoic I wait as time passes me. I am ever reaching for the year one hundred, where I will set Carlisle free of his imagined obligation to me. I pick up the book nearest to me and don't bother to read the cover. The parchment is soft and fragile in my hands, as most things are, though this particular book looks weathered and old. I finger through the pages, careful not to tear any stray from the binding, and glance over the words. They all blend together for me now, a meaningless jumble of an author's futile attempt to explain the philosophies of life and death. It is hard to relate to the novels when they are so utterly unrelatable.

"Tomorrow is your one hundred," Carlisle mentions casually, though his thoughts belay his excitement. He has been counting down to the day, the hour, the minute, the second, until he is free to see his wife.

"Yes," I smile, happy for him. Though I cannot reconcile the fact that I have kept them apart for an entire century, I feel infinitely better in knowing that he will see her soon.

"I know what you are thinking," Carlisle assumes, setting down his book and inserting a small velvet book marker. He sets the book aside, on top of one of the numerous book towers, and leans back in his leather studded chair as his thoughts accuse me.

_It is not your fault that I have not seen Esme. You know this. It is mine. I brought you here, and I chose not to simply abandon you because of my own selfishness. Do not blame yourself, son, for my decisions._

He is careful not to call me a mistake. He even censors his thoughts.

I watch as his mind plays out my "rebirth." It is 1918, 99 years prior to our position now, though Carlisle looks identical to the man sitting across from me. I, on the other hand, do not. His mind briefly glances at my face, though I am sure he memorized it to the minute detail on the small glance. My hair is in disarray, and is closer to brown than the auburn it is now. My eyes are clenched shut, though I know from Carlisle's other memories that they were once a dark green, the same color as my mother's. My face is sweaty and I look boyish, though gaunt from sickness. That person is a 17-year-old human. He is innocent and naïve and he doesn't know what is going on around him. He enjoys his mother's cooking and taking walks when it is sunnier outside. He is polite and carefree, but also reckless. He wants to join the military, though he knows he would cede to his mother's wishes if she so desired.

I am no longer that boy, that person.

Carlisle is on brief leave from the Volturi in Chicago, though still a member of the guard. It is a rule that any vampire created under guard venom also needs to fulfill the one hundred year obligation to the Volturi.

Carlisle's mind then covers Elizabeth's dying face. I frown minutely, though Carlisle, stuck in his memory, does not notice. She pleads, she begs, she knows what Carlisle is. There is no denying this. Elizabeth wants her son to live at all costs.

My hands run along the solid, dead skin of my arms and wrist. The impenetrable steel, a body encased in solitude. I wonder if this is what she would have wanted for me. I wonder if this was the life she anticipated I would have when she requested her final, dying wish.

Carlisle breaks from his memories the moment before he bites. Just after the point where he relishes in the final thoughts before his actions: _finally, a companion_.

"I apologize," Carlisle sighs, though I know it is not just for delving into his memories right in front of me. It is for much more.

"No need," I respond quietly, and we lapse into silence once more.

Carlisle, Aro and Demetri are the only beings I truly talk to. The rest I acknowledge when I must, though their thoughts have a way of mingling in my brain and clouding my thoughts. It is beyond frustrating, and I often suffered from debilitating headaches when I was a newborn vampire. It was one of the things that intrigued Aro the most – a vampire that could actually become ill. Over time, I have grown a resistance to the excess. I am able to push the majority of it to the back of my mind and muffle them. There are still the problematic few, of course. Heidi included. Her incessant internal rambling has a way of crawling under my skin and making me crazy.

Carlisle shuffles through his books for a bit longer. I sit politely beside him, monitoring my breathing carefully. We are only two recluses stuck together and surrounded by books.

It is twenty minutes later that the force of his thought almost moves me physically.

"Your singer …" Carlisle says suddenly, almost exactly in time with his thought.

"You don't think they would actually get me one, do they?" I ask tentatively. I am simultaneously excited and appalled. I know that this will cause me to fail and, in a way, I welcome it. I have seen the minds of the older vampires when they recollect upon the day they received their ultimate gift. There is literally nothing like it – the blood so sweet that it is saved until the day Aro decides to give it. At the hundredth year of service, Aro requests Demetri to locate the vampire's singer. Since Demetri has seen me feed on humans before, he is able to automatically locate my singer in the world. It is a peculiar talent, and one that does not go unnoticed. The singer is quite possibly the best gift that a vampire receives in his or her entire existence. My mouth waters just thinking about the possibility of being given one.

"I think so, though you'll have to ask Demetri to confirm," Carlisle replies.

"He hasn't been around," I murmur. Demetri mysteriously disappeared approximately two days prior, though no one seems to know about it. I assume Aro has something to do with it, but he blocks his mind from me too sufficiently for me to be able to tell.

"He is probably going to locate the singer for you, then. After all, he isn't really used for anything else, and no other young vampire is even closer to their centurion," he says, scratching the absurdly pale skin of his chin gently.

I sigh and link my fingers in a tree, crossing them beneath my chin.

"I will kill the human if they do," I admit to him, better to do it now than to see his disappointment after I devour every last drop. "I struggle even maintaining control with the large group of them, and they don't smell even close to what the singer will."

_You'll do fine_, he praises without thinking.

"Carlisle," I say, harsher now. He needs to believe me. "I will kill it. There isn't a chance."

"I didn't kill my singer," Carlisle reminds me. I roll my eyes. Of course Carlisle didn't kill his singer. Perfect Carlisle has never killed a goddamn fly. Maybe a deer or six, but not even a fly. I harrumph and lean back in my seat, remembering.

"You didn't exactly see her long. Didn't you have Demetri cart her off to some untraceable location?" I scoff, pursing my lips.

I watch as his memories fly past before my eyes. His singer was an elderly woman, probably around the age of fifty. At the time, her life span had long surpassed the average expectancy of humans. Her hair was grayed in streaks and windblown off of her face. Formerly, it would seem as though her hair was a light, light blond, though the parts that were not gray were almost white in the moonlight. At that time, the Volturi held their rituals outside and not underground as they have them now. The woman did not even look frightened. Her posture was strong, even in the face of a panel of ethereal, ghastly vampires. Through Carlisle's memories, I hear him snap and growl, obviously being held back by another vampire.

'Bon appétit,' Aro smiles in his memory, looking exactly the same as he does today.

Carlisle's growls become louder. Aro cackles, beckoning for the vampire behind the elderly woman to bring her forward. He does so slowly, and I hear the torment in Carlisle's attempts at resistance on each and every step. Even back then, he prided himself on not killing anything, anyone. But as the woman approached him, I can feel his resolve begin to waver.

_Perhaps just one taste._

_The scent is too strong, the scent is too powerful, the scent, the scent_.

'I will take her out like you requested, Carlisle. I will take her away,' the vampire speaks into Carlisle's ear. It is Demetri, his voice loud and clear over Carlisle's cries of the hunt. And then, like lightning, Carlisle is left unguarded as Demetri sweeps the woman up into his arms and leaves faster than sight. Aro looks mildly annoyed, watching Carlisle as he digs himself into the earth, forcing himself to stay still.

'Such a disappointment,' Aro grumbles as Carlisle takes large, deep breaths of the cleaner air. His memories are so clear that I can smell the dewy grass in his lungs and the very last remnants of the blood that sang to him.

"You are stronger than I am. You always have been," I say once Carlisle pulls himself from his memories.

"That is not true. I do not have to do what you do every day. Monitoring the thoughts of the humans before the meals … reading the thoughts of the suspected criminals … I would surely crack. You do not. I am proud of you, and I don't say that often enough."

I duck my head and pinch the bridge of my nose.

I then thank him for the words I don't deserve.

Though my eyes are now golden, they were not six months ago.

Julie Andrews; her blood smelled of roses and honey with a hint of strawberries. The closer I got, the easier it was to be drawn in, to consume.

Two years ago, Francis Dem. His eyes were too large for his face and his chin too pointed, but his blood was so potent that I could not hold back.

Three months before that, an 18-year-old girl named Molly. I drained her so fast that I did not even catch her last name.

There are more. Tens, hundreds, countless. Many of them were members of families. They were lovers and sons and daughters and brothers and sisters. I took that away—I consistently take that away—and people are left without their companions for eternity. Every one of them had someone, and those people all had to live with that loss. Because of me.

We are silent again, but not for long. I hear Jane approaching, her thoughts annoyed. She doesn't like it when Aro makes her the messenger, but she will do almost anything to please him. Her small feet echo down the stone hallway to Carlisle's study, but the noise is clouded by the overlapping thoughts. Even though I hear that she needs me, I make no move to stand. She hesitates before opening the door. I am not sure why because she is not sure why. Still, the door opens and both Carlisle and I meet her gaze.

"Aro needs Edward for a job. Quickly," she says and then pivots on her toes, already walking away. Her thoughts are even more annoyed; Aro didn't tell her the details of the job and she is not involved. I am sure he will request her service later, though. Of course, that fact depends on me and me alone.

I know what this is.

This is a trial.

Sure enough, the three eldest vampires sit clothed in what looks like judge's garb. They are watching as a young, dirt-encrusted vampire struggles against the two guards holding him. Aro nods slightly and the vampire is pushed down to his knees. He hisses and growls. My brow furrows and I move to stand by Aro's side. Jane looks peeved, though leaves the room quickly. If Aro doesn't specifically invite a vampire into a trial, they are not allowed to stay. Jane knows this, and the door echoes after her departure.

"Ah, Edward has returned," Aro smiles, clasping his hands together. There must be a specific problem with this vampire, for Aro's touch usually suffices when it comes to reading the thoughts of a victim. I am only requested in certain circumstances that usually pertain to what the vampire intends to do in the future, for Aro can only read the thoughts that the vampire had in the past.

"Yes," I nod, "As you requested." The victim turns his head toward me, now aware of my arrival. I listen as he assesses me. The first thing he notices is my eyes, as most do. He wonders how it is possible that they are such a putrid shade of gold. His are a bright ruby red, shining in their sockets. His name is William. He lives in Ireland, though recently he struggled with a large coven that also inhabits the area. He is convicted for public fighting with a member of the coven, along with human awareness of the fighting. He has already assured Aro that he will never fight with any of the coven nor return to Ireland again, though Aro is not sure he believes him. William has a lover in Ireland, and she is not willing to leave her homeland.

"How much have you heard in these few minutes?" Aro asks calmly.

"Oh, just get on with it," Caius grumbles before I answer, already thoroughly bored with the situation.

"Patience, my friend," Aro replies.

"William fought with a vampire named Derek, a member of a large coven in Ireland. William began the fight due to Derek's insinuations that he was sleeping with his mate, Delilah. Three women noticed their fight, though they were killed promptly after the fight was settled," I murmur. William looks at me, eyes wide with something akin to betrayal, growling when I speak Delilah's name. I am used to this look. It is hatred.

"Such talent," Aro sighs slightly. "Ah well, jealousy will get me nowhere, right Edward?"

Caius, Marcus and I wait as Aro plays his little game. It is the game that makes the victim suffer in awaiting his fate. Prolonging the moment is one of Aro's favorite pastimes.

"William," Aro begins politely, "Will you be returning to Ireland after this trial if we let you free?"

Almost immediately, William's thoughts run overdrive as he attempts to cover them from me. That is the constant tragedy in this, for in desperate struggle the thoughts are always the loudest and clearest. The love that William holds for Delilah brings an ache to my chest, and I avert my eyes to see Marcus reacting similarly. It is something I never feel except in the thoughts of others. William's eyes meet mine. They are begging, pleading. They ask me to not tell the truth. He knows he cannot stay away from Ireland, from Delilah. He cannot abandon his mate.

I bow my head in apology. There is nothing I can do. Aro can simply touch my palm and hear what I have just heard.

"Edward?" Aro prompts.

I am his judge, jury, and executioner.

"Yes," I manage, "He will be returning."

"You bastard!" William screams aloud.

They are the first and last words he will ever utter to me.

I'm used to it.

With newfound rage and only milliseconds after his decision, William pushes away from his captors and throws himself at me. I narrowly dodge and he lands on the balls of his feet, pivoting and bearing all of his teeth at me.

I glance over to Aro, seeing him roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Jane," he sighs quietly.

Immediately, Jane is by my side and William is writhing on the floor in agony. It is clear that Jane was waiting outside the entire trial, clearly counting on this moment to occur. The two members of the guard gather William up and drag his screaming body back before Aro, Marcus, and Caius.

"Thank you, my pet."

The screaming stops immediately. Jane, with a small smile on her face, walks daintily from the room. I, on the other hand, am not dismissed. I am never allowed to leave before the perpetrator dies. I stand to the right of Aro, my face stony and neutral. I am careful not to betray any emotion after this point. After all, there is nothing I can do to help. Anything I say or do will only serve the purpose of putting me in danger, and with only a few days before Carlisle and I are given leave, it is something I am not willing to do.

There is no longer hate consuming William. There is only defeat.

I watch with a stoic expression as his limbs are pulled apart and burned. I find myself wondering whether Delilah will feel the pain of his loss, or if she ever truly loved him. After all, she wasn't willing to leave Ireland for him. How much can be said for love like that?

"Thank you, Edward. We always appreciate your company. I look forward to seeing the decision you make after the centurion ceremony."

Great.

Not only am I receiving a singer, but Aro thinks that I will stay with the Volturi guard after my obligation is up.

"Am I dismissed, Aro?" I ask patiently, betraying nothing.

"Yes, my boy. We'll see you tomorrow for the big day."

The big day.

Great.

I return to Carlisle's study to find it empty. It is empty not just of Carlisle, but of all of his belongings. Clearly, he has already packed up in anticipation. I know how rampant his thoughts have been, how excited he has been with the prospect of finally living with his coven, his family. He does try to hide the majority of it around me, though some of it slips through the cracks.

I am running my hands along the barren walls of the study when Carlisle walks in. Even though I can sense him behind me, he still knocks on the doorframe with his fist.

"How about we go on a celebratory hunt? It's our last few hours here, after all," Carlisle suggests.

"Sure," I agree, and by the time we are back in Volterra the sun is rising and my failure is imminent.

"You are strong," Carlisle reminds me as we enter the dark tunnels that lead downward. "I have faith in you."

"That makes one of us," I mutter. I have no doubt that I will succumb to the power of this scent. My mouth is already watering only imagining its potency.

When we finally enter the main room all of the guard is gathered and ready. I sniff tentatively but smell nothing. Carlisle moves off to the side and I see that Aro has beckoned me toward him. I walk over, my robes skirting across the stone, the noise a whispering breath.

"Any moment now and Demetri will be here," Aro grins.

I see Caius also grinning, though it is clearly snide and not anticipatory. Marcus meets my eye with his usual apathetic stare, though I see a small twinkle in them that perplexes me.

_Be strong_, Marcus thinks. His thoughts ring loud and clear because he does not block them from me. I stare at him for a moment too long, and then look away.

I smell her before I see her.

I cannot even describe it.

Pure and all-encompassing want.

I want it.

I want her.

I want.

Now.

A growl rips through my throat before I can control it.

She isn't even around the corner yet.

The guard snickers and sneers. They love these types of shows. I hear the clumsy footsteps of a human paired with the light tread of a vampire. They are close. _Oh_, they are close. My hand punctures stone as I hold myself to the wall behind Aro's throne.

They turn the corner and I can't register anything except for that _scent_.

I want to kill.

Aro smiles.

"Bon appétit."

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Hamlet**_**.**

**Claudius is asking God to absolve his sins after he murders his brother in order to obtain the queen and the position as king of Denmark. **

**Thanks to revrag for the read.**

**You can also read this at www(dot)adifferentforest(dot)com.**

**I do not apologize for killing Julie Andrews.**

**Chapter 1 of 8. **


	2. some say in ice

Will there ever be an end?

All that is needed is one taste of the sin that I crave. Wretched fingers reach listlessly forward, though they catch only air as they search for desire. Controlling the elements, I am fraught with havoc. I ask for forgiveness and receive none. And now, in my wild, empty abandon, I am a sinking ship falling deeper into empty oceans.

There is no escape, no breath. Surrounded by the pressures of life and death, I gasp.

There is no turning back from here.

_I am in blood_

_Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,_

_Returning were as tedious as go o'er.  
_

The water is blood now. It seeps into the pores of my skin as I thrash my way to the surface, drowning. No air is needed but I still reach out for something, someone. It pushes down on my body and on my soul until I cannot feel them any longer.

I am a body filled with what I have done, not who I am.

A fragmented being with only the outermost shell, I fall.

And even in sleepless dream I beg to be lifted from my watery grave, but to no avail. The surf, the sand; it swallows me whole. My body sinks like the stone that it is, and my regrets are fruitless, my actions are fruitless. I call out, "Save me from the hull of this ship! Save me from my everlasting grave!"

But there is no answer.

#

I struggle against the arms of my restrainers. Both Demetri and Carlisle pull me back. My desire is much stronger than Carlisle's once was, and I am very close to breaking free. My mind focuses on so many things at once. Primarily, of course, my target. She is so close, so close, so close. If I could just reach out and taste her . . .

"Edward, remember where your values lie. You are not weak," Carlisle's voice echoes in my ear, but I do not register the words. All that consumes my mind is the pure and uncontrollable _want_. I smell the fear and the adrenaline in the air, permeating my nostrils and mingling perfectly with her wondrous scent. I thrash against the arms of Demetri and Carlisle.

Let me go.

Let me go.

Let me _consume._

Save for my growls and the human's rapid heartbeat, there is no sound in the room. I blame the absence of thought to my focus.

There is nothing I can do. I cannot restrain my need for this human. If I do not have her . . . well, that is something my throat will not allow. I breathe in the thick scent through my nose, feeling my eyes roll back in how utterly perfect it smells. Every breath is more potent than the last. I am not growing immune to the scent; the opposite is happening, I am craving it more. I keep breathing and thrashing and growling until the scent is, for some strange reason, muted.

It takes me a few moments to realize that Carlisle's hand covers both my nose and my mouth. But it isn't enough, for I can still taste the scent on the back of my tongue. I still crave it in every bone of my body, and my perfect memory does not allow me to forget what it is that is _still _standing in front of me, waiting.

It feels like ages before I am able to calm my reactions, though my muscles are still bent in tense attack.

"I will take her away, Edward," Demetri offers as he once offered Carlisle. I shake my head. I should be saying yes, take her away, get her out of here before I drain every last drop in her body. But I'm not.

I know I can create a façade that will last just long enough for Demetri and Carlisle to let me go. And then I will attack, and she will be dead before she realizes anyone in the entire great room has moved. I force my muscles to relax further, though I still feel them shaking as my mind fights for control over my body. Carlisle's hand still covers both my mouth and nose.

"Demetri, I will not allow another singer to be taken from the premises," Aro says suddenly, his eyes in a slight glare as he regards the situation. "I know you did it for Carlisle, but that was such a disappointment, not to mention quite a bore. Edward's deserved this. Haven't you, Edward?"

My mouth is still covered by Carlisle's hand.

Aro wants me to speak, to breathe, to inhale.

But instead, she speaks.

"Edward . . . Edward is your name? Edward, I have a dad and a mom and I'm the only child. My dad . . . he loves me. His name is Charlie and he lives in Washington all alone. Edward? Edward, he doesn't even know how to cook. I cook for him-" Her voice is shaking, though she persists until Aro cuts her off.

"God, will someone shut her up?" Aro snaps. The times Aro loses control of himself are few and far between, but this is one of them. He even lets his mind slip, and I hear his concerns. He believes that if I don't succumb to my natural instincts and kill the girl, I won't stay in the guard. He wants to break me and, if anything, it makes me more stubborn.

Felix moves behind her after Aro's request. He doesn't have to touch her, for she promptly stops talking only out of fear.

"I said, you feel you deserve this, right Edward?" Aro's voice loses more of its patience and control. Carlisle understands the order in his tone. He slowly but reluctantly moves his hand from my face.

"Yes," I cough, but don't inhale. If I were to inhale I would blow my cover right in front of everyone. I certainly can't have that. After all, I want to savor her. Every. Last. Drop.

She startles at the sound of my voice and we make eye contact.

I still want to kill her.

"This is taking up an obnoxious amount of time," Caius grumbles.

"I agree. This is supposed to be celebratory. Edward, have at it!" Aro calls, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation. Even through Aro's request, Carlisle and Demetri tighten their hold on my body.

"Perhaps," I begin, using the last of my saved air, "I could have her in private."

"Are you sure?" Carlisle whispers in my ear for all to hear.

"Hush, Carlisle," Aro snaps, mulling my suggestion over. His thoughts are no longer guarded in the heat of the moment, and I can tell that this placating him. He assumes that if I still drink her blood, I will be more willing to stay with the guard – public ceremony or not. Aro taps his finger against his chin to prolong the moment and then speaks. "I suppose I will allow it. Felix, please bring Isabella to Edward's quarters and leave her there. I want no one inside that room, is that clear?"

Isabella.

He addresses the rest of the guard with the end of his statement. He is now trying to please me. He is holding on to this worthless little girl in hopes that it will keep me with the guard.

I unintentionally hiss as I watch Felix move my prey from my sight. It is within my instinct to push him out of the way and claim her as my own. She frantically looks over her shoulder when I make the noise, and our eyes meet one more time before she turns the corner.

I inhale a few minutes later, but the air is still tainted with her scent. I come _this _close to lunging out after her, but remind myself that both Carlisle and Demetri are still by my side. I want no one around when I drain Isabella. In fact, I want Carlisle halfway across the world before I even touch her blood. Perhaps Aro is right. Perhaps it is just Carlisle that is keeping me from what is natural and right for a vampire, and if he no longer feels obligation toward me I will be able to revert to my natural instincts. Either way, I almost don't care. All I want is her blood, and the only thing keeping me sane is the fact that I will drain her later in the evening and it will be the best feeling I will ever relish in.

"Well done, son," Carlisle eventually says, straightening his position. I reluctantly move from my crouch and stare passively at him. I have made up my mind. I am no longer affiliated with Carlisle and his ways.

After all, I am a vampire.

I might as well embrace it.

"We are free to go tonight. You don't have to go to your room before then. You are over the hardest hurdle." Carlisle looks so relieved, so happy. He claps me on the shoulder as if I have fulfilled his every wish. Demetri also shakes my hand, for even though he does not participate in our particular lifestyle, he still holds respect for those who do.

Or so I thought.

_I know you're going to kill her. Talk to me once we see Carlisle off_.

Demetri's thoughts take me by surprise. I had assumed that I had everyone fooled. I have certainly fooled Carlisle, though, and I suppose that is all that matters. I briefly make eye contact with Demetri and nod my head slightly. Carlisle notices this, though he pretends that he doesn't. He does not want to put himself in any position that could possibly take him away from his wife and family, especially in these final hours he has away from them.

I take in a quick, sharp breath.

I can still taste her.

"You're free at midnight, right Carlisle?" I ask with my small amount of air.

"No, _we're _free at midnight," Carlisle smiles. "Esme is going to pick us up just outside of Volterra at 12:15."

The excitement shines in his eyes, and now I have to destroy it.

Thus is my existence.

"I'm not sure I've made a decision yet," I mumble quietly. Of course, Carlisle hears in perfect articulation. Even his thoughts are momentarily halted as he attempts to process this new bit of information.

"I'm not sure I understand," he says slowly. "Is this not what we have been waiting for? A free life?"

Her scent taints my tongue on every inhale. It is a cruel reminder _why _I have not yet made a decision. I want to taste her. I want to kill her. I want to drain her.

"Yes, that is what you have been waiting for. But Carlisle, you must understand . . . I don't have anyone out there waiting for me. This is all I've ever known."

The barren stone walls and the vaulting ceilings, the hordes of vampires and the human receptionist, the dark, dank tunnels and the endless midnight; it is all I've ever known.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Carlisle attempts to joke, though the pain is evident in his voice. I think I have underestimated the attachment between us. After all, Carlisle first changed me in the hopes of a companion. We have lived together for one-hundred years, Carlisle sacrificing those years for me instead of spending them with his wife.

And what am I doing now?

I'm throwing it all in his face for some blood.

I disgust myself . . .

. . . But I want her _so badly._

"I just need some time to think," I groan, rubbing my temples with my pointer fingers. "But, Carlisle, either way you have to go. I have kept you here far too long."

"You have kept me nowhere, Edward. This was my choice. All mine. Do not take credit for my decisions," he snarls, and it is one of the few times I have seen Carlisle anywhere close to menacing. "Do you understand?" he prompts.

"I understand," I begrudgingly allow.

We spend the rest of the evening in Carlisle's barren study. It is the room farthest from the center commons, and it is impossible to smell her here. Even so, I have the scent etched perfectly into my memory, and every second without her is physically painful.

I am _so _thirsty.

Though there are no mirrors, I am completely positive that my eyes are a charcoal black.

All of Carlisle's belongings are packed away in bags and placed in the corner of his study. We stand silently, both in quiet contemplation. When the hours turn to minutes Carlisle begins to pace. His mind worries about Esme and his family's trip, though, realistically, there could not possibly be anything to hinder it. I am almost grateful at midnight. Finally, he will stop worrying and we can leave. We meet Demetri at the exit of the underground city. Of course, we are not allowed to truly leave until Aro dismisses us.

It is 12:12 when Aro finally arrives. We all stand at his approach.

Carlisle silently removes himself from the Volturi robes. While Aro stands and watches, he folds them and hands them to him. Aro does not show any emotion. He simply tucks the robes inside of his own and turns to me. Carlisle is now nothing more than an unpleasant acquaintance.

"Edward, my boy. Are you staying?" He already knows I am. I have no luggage and I am not handing him the robes.

"For the time being, yes."

"Ah. Edward, you are the king of ambiguous answers," he smiles as if it is some private joke between the two of us. I manage a sort of grimace in response. Aro turns to leave and we are finally dismissed. Carlisle, Demetri and I pick up a few suitcases and walk out into the Volterra streets.

They are almost completely deserted of people save for the stray prostitute or two. Even so, we walk quickly and stay in the shadows. It is almost impossible for any human to see us, though I still keep a monitor of the thoughts nearest to us. After all, the moon is particularly bright tonight, and it gives us an ethereal sort of glow. I float through a lot dreams. Seeing dreams is one of the strangest things about being able to read minds. It is like swimming through a vortex of thought and emotion, both of which are so pure and unedited that every mind is equally childlike.

Demetri moves close to me as if afraid I am going to run. I do have to admit that I considered it a few times. After all, she is waiting for me behind closed doors. I wonder what she is thinking. I wonder if she is anticipating her death.

Hell knows I am.

When we near the end of the city Carlisle quickens his speed. Demetri and I speed up to accommodate him as he rounds the corner.

The woman I see just outside the gates is the same woman I've seen for over a hundred years in Carlisle's thoughts. Her beauty truly is timeless in its elegance. It is the type that fits in any decade, and is immune to changes in style. But what makes her as beautiful as she is, is the amount of love that Carlisle holds for her. When his thoughts are filled with anticipation, my thoughts are filled with anticipation. When his thoughts are filled with exuberance, my thoughts are filled with exuberance. When his thoughts are filled with love for Esme, my thoughts are filled with love for Esme.

Behind her are two more couples, one of which Carlisle has seen before. The other two are mysteries to us both, and I quickly scan the minds of them. One is completely normal while the other perplexes me. I have a small inkling that I am seeing things that haven't happened yet.

"Carlisle," Esme coos. They embrace.

And this is what I have prevented.

The rest of the party shifts from foot to foot. I see the stunning blond Rosalie with her mate Emmett meet my eye. Emmett wonders why I am still wearing Volturi robes while Carlisle is not. As far as he knows, I am joining Carlisle on this trip. Alice, on the other hand, sees a family scene without me there.

I stare at her, not understanding why I am hurt by my absence in this perfect portrait.

She stares unflinchingly back at me with a somewhat benign challenge in her expression.

_Edward._

It is Alice. I continue to stare at this strange, small vampire.

_If you kill my future sister I swear to God I will hunt you down, rip you to pieces, and burn you_.

My eyes widen and I growl, bearing my teeth at her. I have no idea what in the hell she's talking about, but I am immediately put on the defensive. Her images of this strange future do not hold me _or _whatever sister she is ensuring I don't kill. Her mind shows again a family of six. She looks exceedingly frustrated by this, and turns away from my gaze.

When she turns I notice that everyone else in our presence is watching our interaction. I, in fact, am crouching down in preparation for a fight. Alice's mate glares at me, his mind clearly defensive of Alice. He even moves in front of her slightly, but she is no longer paying any attention to me. Her mind is a continuous string of images that do not include me, and I don't understand why she keeps thinking the same thoughts, the same . . . visions?

Demetri places a hand on my shoulder and I turn to glare at him. My nerves feel wired and frayed. Everything is being thrown at me from every angle and I can't seem to get my bearings. Carlisle looks at me with an expression both grave and concerned. Even now, with Esme in his arms, I am tainting his happiness with my problems. I huff as I attempt to regain control of my emotions, my fingers flexing at my sides.

Carlisle approaches me with a steady and smooth gait.

"Please consider joining our family. I know this is all you have ever known, but please, consider it," he says softly as we part.

"Thank you for the offer, Carlisle. Thank you for everything." I notice that Alice glares at me as I speak. She is the only one that truly grasps how desolate my tone is.

They all turn away from Demetri and me, the two cloaked vampires. They look almost human when they walk. It must leak into them after being around humans for so long. They even have the mannerisms. They occasionally touch their hair, they swing their arms, they hold hands and move them around. I watch with a small amount of longing and a larger amount of confusion. Demetri is the one who ends up turning us back into Volterra.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he asks as we walk. _The way they are almost like humans. I bet you sympathize, though; especially considering your special… diet._

"No, I think it's strange, too. I can't imagine ever living like that. Surrounded by humans all of the time . . . I find it hard just to be in a room with only a few of them."

Our feet echo across the deserted, stone pathway as we walk. Our voices are muted – too low for any human to hear. The closer we get to the entrance of the guard area, the more my mind focuses on what is awaiting me in my bedroom.

Still, I am _so _thirsty.

I refocus to realize that Demetri is talking again.

"Your power to abstain still astounds me. Both you and Carlisle are freaks of vampire nature."

"Isn't that a bit contradictory?" I smile.

_Perhaps, _he allows, sharing my smile.

We are well on our way through the dark tunnels when Demetri speaks again.

"Where are you going after this?" he asks calmly, though I know exactly what he is getting at through his thoughts. He is wondering if I am going to go to her, and if I am going to drain her. He wonders even though he already knows the answer. He himself drained his singer in less than thirty seconds right in front of the entire guard. Of course, Demetri wasn't exactly trying to stay away from human blood at the time.

"I'm going to my room, I think," I say in a remarkably smooth tone, though my tongue runs slowly along my teeth in preparation.

_Edward, try and think about what you're doing. I know that you're better than this. I know that you're better than us,_ he says fervently. And then we have stopped moving and the walls of the dark tunnels have shadowed his features in a way that looks almost vile.

"I am no better than you, Demetri. Trust me on that one," I reply, chuckling humorlessly.

_But if you don't kill this girl, Aro doesn't control you anymore. You're better than him, Edward. He won't have any hold on you anymore. You will be free from this._

"Free . . . and then what, Demetri? So, I'm free? Then where the _fuck _do I go?"

The times that I use profanity are uncommon, but when I do use it, it is surely with good cause. I figure that it is something ingrained into me by the culture I grew up in, but in particular by my mother. One of the few things I remember from my human years is the soap in my mouth after I copied the little boy at school's words. Even now, it feels despicable on my tongue. Demetri stares at me with a vacant sort of expression. He doesn't know the answer to my question. I don't know the answer to my question.

I don't know what to do except to give in because it's easier than breaking out.

If I had a heart, it would be beating rapidly. If I had blood, my cheeks would be red with anger. If I had a soul, it would be ashamed.

His silence tells me everything.

"That's what I thought," I snap. "I'm going to my room."

I sound like a petulant child but I don't care. I pass Aro and Caius, both engrossed in deep conversation. Aro looks up when I pass. He notices the determination in my face and feels victorious.

As I turn the corner down into the hall that leads to my room, I pause. I inhale deeply. Only faint traces of Isabella linger here. I feel the nostalgic remnants of adrenaline course through me. My fingers form ugly claws and my muscles clench in anticipation.

And then I panic.

My mind is racing and I cannot control it. I flee to Carlisle's study and close the door with a crash, sinking to the stone floor. The removed bookshelves leave outlines etched in the walls signifying the amount of time they were there for. My eyes run over the differences in shade; lighter where the bookshelves once were, darker where they were absent. I use these trivial facts and focus on them. I am trying to ignore all that has happened in this endless day, but, again, I fail.

I bury my face in my hands, lost and confused and so _damn_ thirsty that my throat feels like it is on fire.

Briefly, I consider calling Carlisle. The fact that I even consider it is somewhat laughable, especially seeing as I have only just let him go. The fact that he is no longer here is somewhat isolating. I no longer have a comrade in arms in this wretched place. Of course, there is Demetri, but who the hell knows what side he's on. I can't tell from day to day.

But what is there for me outside of Volterra?

Billions of humans I won't be able to drink, Carlisle, his mate and his family. That is all there is. How is that any better than staying here and succumbing to my true nature? There is no difference. Either way I am damned and that is all there is to it.

Slowly, I stand.

I push myself from the room, walking much faster than the leisurely pace that is common between activities here. I notice them turn and stare but I block their thoughts. I don't care; I don't want to be judged. Demetri attempts to get my attention. I'm not sure I care. My mind is already set and there's no changing it.

"Edward, I –" he begins, but I push past him.

"Don't touch me," I snap. Demetri backs off, appraising me as if I were a completely different person. Aro grins to himself, perched in the corner of the great room. I don't pay any attention, but his thoughts are unguarded enough to let me know that he is proud of me.

I don't know if it is a blessing or a curse.

I hear her and smell her simultaneously. Her heartbeat is wild and frantic though I'm sure she cannot hear my approach. Our movements are too quiet for humans to hear our arrival. It is just another one of the ridiculous advantages we have over them.

I wonder if she's thinking about her imminent death. It is obvious, considering her performance at the ceremony, that she knows she is going to die. I wonder if she imagined it would take this long for me to make up my mind. I wonder if she knows I will draw it out; I wonder if she knows I will make it hurt. I wonder if she thinks I'm the monster that I am.

It occurs to me, briefly, that she must not be thinking anything at all, because even in this short range I cannot hear her thoughts. I make a noise against the stone outside of my room in order to alert her to my presence. Her heartbeat quickens, but she still doesn't think anything.

Is she stupid? Is she truly thinking _nothing _of her demise?

Unexplainably angered by this, I end up opening the door to my room with much more force than should have been exerted. The door creaks on its hinges, barely hanging on as I storm through.

Is it unfair that she looks exactly the opposite of what a monster should?

Yes, it is, because everything in me regards her as the cruelest kind of monster. Already, she has prevented my leave of this wretched place, separated me from my only companion, and nullified any attempt at normalcy I have strived to establish. Yet, she sits there like she is the victim. She sits there like she hasn't done anything wrong, like she hasn't ruined anyone's entire existence.

The audacity! She thinks she is the victim. That is what she thinks.

"Please don't do it," she begs me, staring with these wide eyes that scream victim, victim.

I wonder what my face looks like now. It must be murderous, because that is how I truly feel. My eyes follow a droplet of perspiration as it slides from her temple, down her cheek, down her neck. My mouth parts because I am imagining that it is actually a blood droplet, and my throat is officially up in flames. I inhale deeply through my nose and a flood of venom enters my mouth. I am swimming in it.

If it is possible to hate someone without ever speaking to them, I have succeeded.

When I open my eyes again she doesn't beg. I assume that she sees the finality in them. Begging will not help her at all.

I take measured steps closer to her. She stares back at me. She is trying to be unafraid, though her body gives her away entirely. Even though I can't hear her thoughts, her body reads like an open book. Her teeth slide down on her lower lip and bite, but not hard enough to draw blood. No, that is my job after all. She breathes too loudly and her heart pounds too hard. All of it is clouding my senses and drawing me in. There is no judgment left.

I bite.

I can't imagine anything more luxurious or more ghastly. She doesn't even scream as I pull so slowly it must be painful, but it tastes so wonderful that I simply ignore these facts. At least, I try to. They linger in the back of my mind as I try to enjoy this perfection. I become angry with them and pull harder. Her heart beat is slow now. I am running out.

Now what? Then what?

I pull back with a quick inhalation. My teeth leave a bloody semicircle in her neck.

And then she starts to scream.

It's the venom.

I stare at her; blood on my shirt, blood on my face, blood everywhere. I am drowning.

With a haste that I cannot comprehend, my mouth is back to her neck and I am pulling and tasting. There's so much venom; she will not be able to live through this. She's as good as dead and she's still screaming. My brow furrows and the blood is finally clean.

I break away in a strange haze between satiation and lust. Still, she is as good as dead. Her heart is beating, though not for long, I'm sure. When I pick her up she is both limp and weightless. The dress she wears – something I did not have the control to notice before – is splattered with her own blood. She looks like a victim in a bloody car accident.

She looks like a victim.

I lay her down on the couch in my room, drop to my knees, and beg for help.

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Macbeth.**_

**Macbeth has just seen the ghost of Banquo, the man he ordered to be murdered under the prophecy of the Three Witches. He is wondering whether continuing to kill would be easier than no longer killing. **

**Thanks to revrag for the read.**

**You can also read this at www(dot)adifferentforest(dot)com.**


	3. from what i've tasted of desire

How can it be worth it?

With leaden eyes and leaden soul, I feel around in the darkness. There are pebbles beneath my feet; jagged rocks an encasing jail that surrounds my being in its entirety. One false move and I trip, I fall, I crash through the steely stone like an ice sculpture façade. But it's endless, endless, and when I feel for you I feel nothing at all.

Wandering amid shadows like coarse fragments of a former self, I surrender to you, to me, to everyone.

_Creeps in this petty pace from day to day_

_To the last syllable of recorded time,_

_And all our yesterdays have lighted fools_

_The way to dusty death. _

In this endless tunnel I wade waist-deep in mulch. If I am given light at the end of this, at the end of this never-ending abyss, I cannot see it, I cannot find it. Stone crevices lurk ominously above my shoulders, reaching down and touching them, leading them with intangible pull.

Follow me, follow this path, follow.

At the broken bottom of my mind and heart, where is there to go? Encased in nothing, but struggling against air and light and sound, I hurt.

Please, oh please.

_Out, out, brief candle!_

Are you there for me or am I without hope, without substance? Persevering through, though my harm knows no bounds. There is no forgiveness for such sin with you, with me. There is solitude with your smile, happiness with your hope, a future with your courage. There is an end to this cracking, caving rock.

_Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player_

_That struts and frets his hour upon the stage_

_And then is heard no more. It is a tale_

_Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury_

With trust undeserved, there is purpose equally undeserved. A drowned sailor, soldier, man, monster, crawling his way to the surface with the promise of an end, of a beginning.

I ask you please, take me in your heart, take me in your soul, carry me, show me the way, show me how to _be_, and I will be forever yours.

Lead me through this tunnel to death, and I will embrace it.

_Signifying nothing._

#

She isn't dead.

At least, I don't think she is.

I haven't moved in . . . I don't even know how long. It feels like all of my muscles are frozen in place. I am still crouching, head bent at an awkward angle as I wait. I expected her to die quickly, and then I would bury her deep in the earth and put a flower on her grave. But she is still here breathing and beating and alive. I don't breathe because her heartbeat is getting stronger and I'm afraid I will repeat my actions.

I feel sick in my stomach and I can't explain why. I have never felt this way before and, honestly, it scares me. I am always in control. I always have the advantage in almost every situation, thanks to my talent above all else. But this stupid, insignificant girl has unearthed everything, leaving me naked and bare. And she hasn't really done anything, either. Simply by being, she has thrown me from my feet and left me breathless.

I don't even know what I'm waiting for. What could possibly come of this? Nothing, that is what.

Either I will kill her or she will be killed. No humans survive down here. Not even the voluntary ones.

I tentatively reach out and brush my finger along her ankle. Even at such a neutral spot, I feel the blood thump against my skin, a constant pressure. Still holding my breath, I swallow. There are emotions I don't understand and, perhaps, don't want to understand. There is dried blood in her hair and on her face and on her dress.

Her knees are bruised. From what, I am unsure. Her skin is unmarred save for my disgusting cruelty at her neck. It is milky white and absurdly angelic, and I realize that I have yet to remove my cold, dead fingers from her ankle. I snap them back like a reflex and feel the human warmth slowly leak from them.

My eyes dart to her face as her eyelids flutter in a disturbingly delicate way. Her eyelashes brush softly against the thin, fragile skin beneath her eyes. And then they open.

_Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for You  
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;  
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend  
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.  
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,  
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.  
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,  
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.  
Yet dearly I love You, and would be loved fain,  
But am betroth'd unto Your enemy;  
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,  
Take me to You, imprison me, for I,  
Except You enthrall me, never shall be free,  
Nor ever chaste, except You ravish me._

Forever a slave to sin, I indulge myself in the beauty of her eyes.

They are clouded and glassy with hours of unconsciousness. They roll blindly in their sockets, focusing on nothing. I wait with bated breath – literally – for her to finally look over. Will she remember or would she block on the entire event? Will she hate me? Why did that even matter? She should hate me, for I am nearly her murderer.

And then she looks straight at me. It is an impenetrable stare that I cannot possibly break. I wonder what she is thinking for the tenth time in one minute, though she continues to disappoint. Always a mystery, her brow furrows slightly. She then reaches up and lightly brushes her fingers over the crescent-shaped wound in her neck. Reflexively, I swallow. She winces and lowers her hand as slowly as she brought it up. Still, she doesn't say anything.

I don't know how she's alive.

"Edward?" she asks softly, quietly. I wonder how she can possibly address me humanely, how she can possibly remember my name after everything. I nod and drop my eyes to the floor in shame I both feel and understand. I have failed miserably again and again. She doesn't say anything once my eyes drop, though I hear her breath; every inhale and exhale is quiet and calm. Again, I wonder what she is thinking. "Don't be sad," she says suddenly, "I knew you'd be my angel."

My eyes move back to hers on their own accord.

"What?" I snap, and it is a putrid, ugly sound. It is also the first word I have ever spoken directly to her.

Her lip trembles slightly at my ferocity. What is it that she expects from me? There is nothing I can offer.

"From the first second I saw you I knew you'd be my angel. My angel in heaven," she says, practically in a whisper. She is staring at me with such intensity that I almost believe her statement myself. Soon, I snap out of it. Like shaking my head and removing myself from a fog, I pull myself back to reality.

"This," I begin, gesturing wildly at our surroundings, "is anything but heaven. And I am not an angel." I laugh darkly, mostly to myself. She stares at me unblinkingly, her mouth parted slightly.

"I don't understand . . ." she trails off, and then she is crying. She cries thick, wet tears that look impossible to control. I am struck dumb by the situation. I don't know what to do, but I _do _know that I want her to stop. There is this newfound ache in my chest when I see her crying, for her crying seems almost blasphemous. For everything I have done to her, now I make her cry.

I duck my head and pull at my hair.

"Please stop," I beg her, I beg the floor.

And then I find myself muttering, "I'll make it heaven, I'll make it heaven," over and over and over again.

She rolls onto her side, curling into a ball. I hear the cushions of the couch give beneath her body as she moves, its springs creaking from disuse. When I look up again she is staring straight forward. She won't even look at me and I certainly can't touch her. Every time I inhale my throat stings and aches, but I don't move. I don't know what she needs, what I should do. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't ask for anything. Am I supposed to guess?

After awhile, she falls asleep again. Her hands unclench and her face relaxes, and I wonder how long it has been since she has eaten. I slowly stand, my muscles a bit stiff after crouching in the same position for so long. I know that I don't have any food here, but I also know that I can't leave her down here alone and unprotected. I look at my clothes and hers; they are covered in blood.

I change clothes and robes, and then shower quickly to remove the rest of the blood from my skin. I scrub furiously hard, feeling indescribably dirty and wrong. When I finish and return to my room she sits up straight on the couch. Her hair is matted and knotted on one side, and her dress rides up too high for me not to notice. My eyes dart to the pale, white skin of her thighs before returning quickly to her face, the image permanently placed in my memories. She looks at me when I make some noise, jumping slightly in her sitting position.

There are two dried droplets of blood at her temple and on her cheek. From this position I can't see the massacre I have made of her neck.

"I . . . um, do you want to take a shower?" I ask, scratching the back of my neck as I hover in the doorway. She only blinks at me, and I realize I was speaking too fast for her to understand. I ask again and she nods fervently. I must remember to call Carlisle and ask him how in the hell to deal with humans. I wonder what he will think of my situation. Will he be angered with me? Does he already know due to the strange, small vampire named Alice? Will he speak to me at all?

I push these thoughts down and away when I see her stand up, then falter.

And I am at her side in an instant and her hands are grasping my forearm and I am no longer breathing.

"Oh," she exhales and clenches my forearm with more strength. I can blame this stumble to many things; low blood pressure, low blood sugar, clumsiness. I cannot pinpoint the cause exactly but she doesn't seem surprised by it. Her warmth is incredibly overwhelming and I don't know how to extricate myself from her hands. I move slightly away and she lets go, dropping her hands at her sides.

"Follow me," I say, slowly this time. She nods and follows close behind me. I can hear her heart rate increase when we step out into the hall, though my bathroom is very close. Her bare feet make dull slapping noises on the stone beneath us, and I find myself wondering why she was never given shoes. I quickly come to the conclusion that no one expected her to last as long as she has. No one including me.

I wait outside the bathroom as she showers. A few people pass by me, though they pay me no mind. In fact, they don't even wonder why I am standing in a seemingly random position in the hallway. They note the water running in the bathroom and that is all.

I try desperately not to listen to her shower, but I fail.

There are noises that I cannot possibly ignore. First, there is the sound of the fabric of her dress hitting the floor of the bathroom. I knock my head into the wall in order to cover up the sound, but it reverberates in my mind on constant repeat. Then I hear the shower creak open. The sound of her footsteps change from the outside of the shower to the inside. The shower turns on and she gasps lightly; the water must be cold. I can hardly feel the temperature changes and curse myself for not testing the water before she entered. Then I hear her hands run through her hair, and the wet sound of the hair hitting the naked skin of her back. My eyes are shut now, my hands twitching. Then there is the barely-there sound of soap running across naked flesh, of a heart rate increasing, of a breathing rate increasing. And then, almost as quickly as it started, the shower shuts off.

I almost jump and move quickly to make it seem as though I wasn't hovering by the door and listening to her shower. It then occurs to me that she doesn't have any clothes to change into.

"Crap," I curse to myself, then dash back to the room and grab extra robes and a shirt. It is the best I can find. When I return, I tap on the door hesitantly. Seeming to read my mind, she opens the door a crack and sticks her hand out. I am relieved to see that it is free of any excess blood. I hand her the clothes and, once she shuts the door, inhale deeply. My mind is constantly swimming in her scent. I wonder if my strange attraction to her merely stems out of my intense want for her blood, or if it is something else. Something different.

After a few moments I hear feet walking down the hallway toward me.

_I wonder if Aro knows . . . what is that smell? Edward's singer? No, doubt it . . . there he is. No, eyes are red. Probably just lingering scent. Need some Febreze for these humans . . . _

Jane then proceeds to laugh aloud at her own joke. She comes into hearing range just in time to hear me snort.

"Why are you hovering, Edward?" she snaps. She is easily annoyed, and does not appreciate it when anyone laughs at her. Her eyebrows knit together in the center and she stares at me with her head cocked to the side."Your eyes are red. It's much better than that freakish gold, I have to say. How was the singer?"

My eyes dart to the side as I prepare to lie, only to realize that I can simply tell the truth.

"Great. Fantastic," I say emphatically because of how true my words are. The blood was great, fantastic. So great and fantastic that I almost killed an innocent girl for it.

"I remember my singer. He was this old guy; really old. Seriously, he even had a pot-belly. But his blood . . ." she trails off, remembering. I find myself falling into the lust she held for her singer. Venom cascades into my mouth as I feel what she feels, what she remembers. I then remember the singer that is standing only feet away from me, dressing in my clothes. I shake my head from the clouds for the second time in one day. Jane stares back at me.

Though we are silent, her thoughts are very, very loud. This is punctuated by the fact that Isabella suddenly decides that she wants to leave the bathroom, and Jane's eyes dart to the turning knob. I quickly stifle it with my palm and push against the door to ensure that it doesn't open. There is a confused thump on the other side of the door, then silence. Her heartbeat is faint but I can hear it. I monitor Jane's now loud, suspicious thoughts, but she doesn't seem to hear the heartbeat that I hear. Perhaps it is louder now that I am attuned to her, for it is already pretty faint.

Jane interrupts my train of thought.

"You're sort of socially retarded, do you know that?" she asks with a small sneer.

"Uh . . . okay," I respond, not really knowing what to say to that.

Jane just laughs, shaking her head as though I am some sort of naïve child. I feel a small push against the door again. I wonder if Isabella thinks I have locked her inside the bathroom. I push back in response, hoping that she somehow realizes I am trying to keep her in there for her own safety.

"Well, I still smell her. Hopefully you got your fill, because even _I _admit that your singer smelled pretty damn good." Jane takes a large inhale in order to punctuate her statement. For me, it is strange to see someone so small using profane language. I have a strange urge to scold her, though I know she would have me screaming on the ground in only moments.

"I did," I say, smiling weakly.

"It's nice to see you with red eyes, Edward. The gold was almost freakish. I'll see you around." She then swivels on a pointed toe and walks in the direction she came from. It is now clear that she was suspicious of me. Apparently, I have passed the test. I exhale a large breath and slump my back against the door to the bathroom, collecting myself. Jane could have easily annihilated Isabella, just like that. There may be protection for humans in Volterra, but there is no protection for humans underneath Volterra.

I take another breath of diluted Isabella scent, hold it, then turn and open the door. She sits on the floor, chin in her palm, swimming in the Volturi robes. She looks up when I open the door.

"I'm really hungry," she says, then clutches her stomach beneath the robes.

I nod absently. Now what?

She stands and looks at me expectantly. Her hair is wet and dripping down the backside of the robes. I see a hint of the red, aggravated skin of her neck where my teeth made purchase. I stare at it with hatred, disgust, and longing. Still, though I put her through hell and back, I want to reopen the wound. I remember the sweet feeling of her blood sliding down by throat, easing the parched ache. Wonderfully ghastly, I want it all again. And then I look at her face. Eyes wide and clear, fringed in lashes and eyebrows. Her features are graceful in their delicacy, and though they are somewhat off-kilter, they are beautiful in their imperfections. I wonder what she thinks of me when she stares with lips parted. I wonder if she sees a monster or a man.

My throat wants her to see the monster.

My heart wants her to see the man.

I then remember Aro's order; no one is to come to my room when Isabella is there. Perfect.

We walk back to my room, Isabella following closely behind. I wonder if she will follow me anywhere. I wonder why I want that so badly.

Isabella walks back to the couch and tentatively sits down, the Volturi robes billowing around her. The black swallows her delicate frame beneath it, marring her in a way I can't comprehend. She looks up at me again, eyes wide.

"I'll get you some food but you have to stay in this room." I take a quick, sharp, painful breath. "Even if you need something just . . . just wait for me to come back. Even if someone asks you to come out or anything like that." I realize I am speaking too fast near the end of my order, and voluntarily slow down. She nods slightly and looks down at the floor. I wonder what I've said that's made her break eye contact.

"Okay," she finally says.

I move to leave the room, and then turn around almost spontaneously.

"Could you promise? Not to leave the room . . . please."

She looks as surprised as I feel about my request.

"Oh, sure. I mean, I promise," she stammers. She meets my eyes again and the blood pools beneath her cheekbones. The venom multiplies in my mouth and I force myself not to inhale.

"Okay," I say, expelling the last of my stored breath. I back out of the room and close the door with a snap, ensuring that I travel a good distance before I breathe again. Thankfully, the main area is nearly deserted and I am able to pass through quickly and easily. I am almost outside when Heidi suddenly appears in my path. I halt when she stands in front of me.

"Red eyes," she comments.

Why is everyone talking to me today? And Heidi, too . . .

I reach up to rub my temples, preparing for the onslaught.

"Yes," I reply curtly. I attempt to sidestep her but she matches my movements easily.

"Great. Come hunting with me so you don't get me in trouble with Aro again. You're going out anyway, right?" she asks, though she has already made her assumption and is planning the gathering session. I stifle a groan. Perhaps I can get some food while she is getting some humans, and she can be my cover. Yeah, sure.

"Okay," I sigh reluctantly.

We walk out into the streets of Volterra where I eventually convince Heidi that I will meet her later to check over the gathered. I absently roam the streets for awhile, looking in food shops without entering them. It is surprisingly hard to shop for something when I have no interest in it, nor do I understand it. I think back to Isabella, waiting for me in the bedroom. My bedroom.

Now is probably a good time to hunt.

I run fast, my legs pounding against the ground as I sprint after my prey. The small animal looks at me with fear. It knows I am a predator just by its instincts. It flees as I chase after it, exhilarated by the clean air and the feeling of the plants that snap easily against my skin. Finally, my teeth sink into the fur. My body is excited for the plunge; it doesn't expect the blood to taste thick and putrid. I almost spit it out, though I swallow it reluctantly for satiation.

Did Isabella ruin me for this as well? Somehow, I am not surprised.

I almost stumble back to Volterra. Heidi has already gathered many humans. They mill about in the shadows as Heidi circles them like a shark circling its prey. I stop at the grocery store. I move too quickly for any of the humans to see, grabbing random objects off of the shelves. Some are brown, green, frozen, solid, squishy . . . I don't know what they are, but the variation in textures is slightly disturbing. I gather enough so I know that Isabella won't be hungry.

Heidi stares at me like I have three heads when I return with the food.

"What is that for?" she asks, her mind roaming through hundreds of possibilities.

"Experiment," I reply curtly. End of discussion.

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes. "Any of them natives?"

I scan through their minds quickly.

"All tourists," I say, and then brush past her.

I don't know how long Isabella has been waiting. Probably hours, and I'm almost sure that is too long for a human. Will she die?

I speed up, the food in my hands jostling around. My body fills with sick dread, sick fear. Did I make another mistake? Am I worrying too much? What the hell am I even doing? I rush through the great room and into my own, only to find her sitting in near exactly the same spot I left her in.

The sleeves of the Volturi robes are rolled up past her elbows. I notice they look too gaunt, too skinny. Is that healthy? Will she die?

She stares at me for a moment, and then she snorts loudly.

I am so surprised that I nearly drop the food I am holding. I wonder if I've done something wrong, and then realize that she is laughing at me. I shuffle my feet, then walk over to her. I'm smiling slightly, though I feel like I am missing out on a private joke.

"Edward, did you buy five Twinkies?" she asks, laughing harder.

"Yes, I think so," I admit, dumping the handfuls of food in front of her. I don't mention that I never actually purchased the food she is going to eat. She picks up the Twinkies and rolls them around her palms. The wrappers crinkle between her hands and she laughs, suddenly squeezing one tightly and causing the filling to explode from the inside. Honestly, it looks downright disgusting.

"You know, one time, I was at this carnival with my dad in rural Washington and they had deep fried Twinkies. It was so gross that I actually threw up afterwards into the bushes. Charlie had to hold my hair because I kept spewing chunks." She then laughs hysterically, opening up one of the Twinkies and stuffing it in her mouth. She swallows the entire thing in two bites. I try not to stare. I fail.

I tentatively sit down as she continues to eat. She intermittently tells me stories about her childhood without even seeming to mean it. Afterward, I know about her home life in Forks, Washington, her friend Jacob, and her father, Charlie. She doesn't ask questions, only talks and eats as I listen. When she shifts the robes show more of her skin.

I wonder if she notices how still my chest is in absence of breath.

I doubt it.

She acts like I am her new best friend. Am I forgiven? Is it possible for me to be forgiven? No.

"Edward?" she asks, her tone suddenly different. "Do you think it would be possible for me to go back to Washington someday?"

The question is so sudden that I am surprised. She wants to leave me? Of course, why wouldn't she?

"I . . . I think so," I say slowly. I don't know why I am telling her this. I have no idea.

But then she smiles, and I know exactly why I chose the answer that I did.

"Do you promise?" she asks tentatively, biting down on her lower lip.

"I promise," I lie.

She falls asleep on the couch again, surrounded by various food wrappers. I pick them up and hide them, though if anyone gets as far as this room the wrappers will be the least of our problems. She mumbles quietly in her sleep. I don't have any blankets, so I pull another set of robes out and cover her with it. She stretches out like a cat and sighs.

I almost touch her. My hand hovers over her cheek close enough to feel the emanation of warmth. I don't want to risk waking her so soon, and reluctantly pull my hand away. With one last hesitant look I leave the room, gently shutting the door closed behind me.

I climb to the surface of Volterra again. It is dark outside, though the moon casts bright lights along the exposed surfaces of the city. I find a secluded area far enough from both humans and vampires, then pull my phone out of my pocket. It is a device I have rarely used, though Carlisle gave it to me a few weeks before his move to New York. His number is already programmed into the phone. His doing, I assume.

It only rings once.

"Edward?" He sounds winded when he speaks, almost like he has just been hunting. I hear noises behind him; a rustling followed by voices being quieted by other voices. "Are you in trouble?" he asks after I do not speak.

"Don't you already know? I ask because I assume Alice is living with you." The fact that Carlisle probably already knows my troubles makes me inappropriately livid. He hesitates before he speaks. I hear him inhale a slow, measured breath.

"Yes. Edward, you cannot imagine how proud we are of you." Someone speaks in the background, though they are quieted quickly afterward.

"Carlisle . . . Carlisle, I almost killed her. And now I have this girl and I have no idea what to do with her," I exclaim, my anxieties bubbling to the surface as they always do in conversation with my peculiar father figure.

"But she's not dead, Edward. She's not dead." Where his finality comes from, I do not know.

"Yet," I finish with a sneer.

Carlisle is quiet but whoever is near him is not. After a few moments, there is complete silence save for Carlisle's soft breathing.

"You won't kill her, Edward. If there is anything that I am certain of, it is that."

"What, did Alice see it?" I ask, incredulous.

"Her visions aren't what you would expect. They are subject to change based on people's decisions."

I notice that Carlisle doesn't specifically answer my question.

"How do you know I won't kill her?" I ask with the uncertainty of a small child.

"Because I know _you_, Edward. I am proud of you and I believe in you. I know you can do this," he says with intense conviction. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, pacing back and forth anxiously.

I then decide, for once, to believe him.

**Italicized quotes UP TO "signifying nothing" belong to Shakespeare's **_**Macbeth. **_

**Macbeth feels guilty after committing regicide, and believes that life no longer has a purpose. In essence, life is but an illusion.**

**Poem AFTER "signifying nothing" belongs to John Donne's "Holy Sonnet XIV". **

**The poet is struggling with the ability to be faithful to God while trying to resist the temptation of sin. He wants God to be "rough" with him, for he believes that he is bound to the devil by sin. **

**Thanks to revrag for the read.**

**You can also read this at www(dot)adifferentforest(dot)com.**


	4. i hold with those who favor fire

_Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast._

I can feel you beneath me in a way I can't explain, can't understand. The warmth of your body is fire that surrounds me, consumes me. You are the beacon of light that leads me to safe coasts, docking treacherous ships on your solid shore. Home is where you take me, where you feel me. As I wade through shallow waters I feel you around me now, caressing deadened skin with the lightest of touches and the whispers of breath.

Wait for me. Let me touch you.

As we walk together I breathe silent promises into awaiting ears. You roll up the damp fabric of my clothes and sigh. These are the lovely sounds that I take and keep, little tokens of gratitude littered along the sand. With a poet's demeanor you hold your head to the sky and scream.

_See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!  
O that I were a glove upon that hand,  
that I might touch that cheek_

The hair whips around your face in the cold breeze. Dancing with the wind, you spin and twirl in the sand to an unheard song. The beauty that grounds me plagues me.

The sun sets to cold darkness but it is fine, for _you _are my light and _you _are my warmth.

It is the season where the air whistles and calls to us secrets undeserved. You catch them in your balmy hands and bring them to your lips where they stay unheard. With mischief and folly you shape and mold everyone you meet. I feel your kiss upon my skin and I want you in hidden crevices and forbidden places.

You lay on the ground and the tall, dry leaves brush your naked skin.

They beckon to me, leading me to you and telling me to love you, though I know I already do.

_Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged._

Is that so selfish?

Is that so wrong?

#

Dejected and slightly frustrated, I aimlessly roam the streets of Volterra.

I know that Isabella is safe in my room under Aro's orders, yet there is a strong pull for me to return to her anyway. The crisp night air eventually leads to day and I am so tired of hiding in the shadows that I eventually duck underground. The dark tunnels are both foreboding and welcoming. This is normal given the fact that my home is so unwelcoming. As I descend the thoughts get louder, though hardly anyone pays me any mind. They assume that I have killed my singer and am here to stay. To them, I am no longer a freak. I am one of the masses. Finally, I belong.

I block the thoughts out as I walk through the great room. Again, no one pays me any mind. They carry on their conversations as usual. I hear, through Demetri, that there is to be yet another trial today and I will most likely be participating. It is a "repeat client," apparently. I pinch the bridge of my nose and speed up my movements so that no one will talk to me and immediately retire to my room. It must be too early for most humans to be awake, for Isabella is still asleep on the couch.

In a way, she looks like an abused child. She is too thin, bruised, ill-accommodated for. The room is thick with her scent and I am immediately grateful for the large breaths I took just outside the door. Obviously, air isn't completely necessary, but it isn't exactly comfortable or natural to hold it for long periods of time.

Her heartbeat is getting stronger. I can hear it in my ears and taste it in my memories. My body reacts to her presence in a way I now expect: a tightening of muscles, an influx of venom, an onslaught of thirst-invoking memories. In a way akin to Carlisle, I ignore it, partly because I have already wronged her so much, and partly because I know something in me would crumble if I were to touch her again.

I sit down as far away from her as possible but it is still too close. As I watch her sleep there, so unguarded and so open, I wonder if Aro's request still applies. After all, the Guard thinks she is dead. What would prevent them from entering my room if they so choose? I cannot protect her here. Briefly, a flicker of hope resides in living with Carlisle, but I know there are too many obstacles. The major one would be getting her out of here alive. Most likely, it would be impossible.

She sighs in her sleep and turns over, unintentionally flaunting the gash on her neck. I cringe and avert my eyes as if I were disrupting her privacy. I don't look back until she wakes a few hours later, though her first look of consciousness makes me feel like the peeping Tom I am.

"Were you watching my sleep?" she asks with her head cocked to the side. Immediately, she reaches over and grabs the last of the food I picked up the previous night. None of it is fit for breakfast, apparently, for she wrinkles her nose and hesitantly opens another Twinkie. "You think I'd get sick of these soon, but they're still so good," she says right before taking another bite. I wonder if she realizes I never answered her first question.

I watch her swallow. Twice.

"You don't talk much," she remarks, stating the obvious. I roll my eyes. She calls me on it. "Hey! You just rolled your eyes at me. Rude." Then she laughs; not just a giggle, but a full belly laugh. I smile slightly in response. "This is all so absurd."

She's definitely right about that one. I take a small breath and immediately my mouth floods with venom.

"I agree," I respond around the venom. She once again seems surprised that I spoke, for she pauses a bit before taking a final bite of the Twinkie. She crinkles up the wrapper and attempts to shoot it into the small wastebasket by the door. She misses by a mile. "Oops," she giggles, and I suddenly find myself wondering if this is some perverse Stockholm syndrome where the captive feels free to joke with her captor.

We are silent for an inappropriate amount of time. I see she is nervous, for she fidgets incessantly. Her foot bounces, she bites her lip, she pulls at her hair, she wrings her hands. I watch with too much fascination to put her out of her misery. Again, it is she who breaks the silence and forces me to take yet another breath.

"Edward, what's your last name?" she asks randomly.

"I don't have one," I answer automatically. She seems to ponder this, her head cocked to the side. She hooks a piece of hair behind her ear as I watch.

"Did you ever have one?"

"Yes, once," I murmur. Once, my last name was Masen. I am not that man anymore; I am not man.

"Are you being purposely obtuse?" she asks with a slight edge to her tone. Is she angry with me? I contemplate this for a moment, and then decide that she is annoyed. She scowls and it creates a groove between her eyebrows that isn't there when her face is relaxed.

"I just don't think you should know that much about me," I respond calmly. This seems to anger her more, though I don't know why. With intrigue, I watch her motions. She stands and scowls slightly, paces up and down the room twice, then returns to her seat on the couch. I follow her with my eyes, slightly perplexed. The humanness is foreign to me and I can't grasp what her gestures mean without the aid of her thoughts. Suddenly, I see my talent is a crutch that I can't walk without.

She looks resolute now, staring at me with unblinking eyes. I don't know what has changed. It is horribly frustrating.

"I know more about you than you think," she says confidently, slowly.

I raise my eyebrow in response, calling her bluff.

"You are a vampire," she pauses, still staring. "You have lived here your entire . . . existence. Your only friends are your father, Carlisle, and your friend, Demetri. You can read people's minds just by being in their presence, but I don't think you can read mine. You usually only feed on animals but sometimes you slip up and kill humans. You've killed a lot of humans, but not nearly as many as most vampires. Demetri told me that the only way I was going to be able to live was if I spoke to you before you were to kill me. I had to get you to listen, and it worked. Well, sort of." Her hand flutters to her neck in a seemingly unintentional move. She leaves it there.

"Demetri told you all of this?" I ask, feeling somewhat betrayed. I completely ignore her hand but still feel the sick feeling in my stomach that tells me I caused the wound.

"Yes," she answers. "And now I know you hardly ever talk, and when you do you always speak really quietly, almost like you're afraid other people will overhear."

I swallow in response to her words. She makes me feel naked and unarmed, like I have no walls to hide behind. She stares at me like she can see straight through me and it is unnerving. I shift slightly in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. As if she can sense my unease, she averts her eyes, staring instead at the floor.

When I look at her I feel like I am endlessly falling.

"I know you're scared," she says quietly. "I'm scared too."

"I don't want you to be scared," I reply truthfully. She's right, I'm scared. She's wrong, I'm terrified.

I am quickly losing my grasp on control in ways I don't understand.

"Come here then," she requests like an ultimatum. She brings up her eyes toward mine. They flash as they dare me to defy her.

We both know I can't. Not anymore.

I take a large breath of somewhat diluted air before standing. Her eyes follow my movements. I am deliberately slow, both to prevent overwhelming her and to prevent overwhelming me. I sit beside her on the couch, uncomfortable and rigid. She turns to me and I try to ignore it. Once again, I fail.

I take quick, shallow breaths similar to the ones taken by a hyperventilating person.

"Calm down," she says, and her hand is on my shoulder like she isn't afraid of anything at all. The heat emanating from her palm feels like its burning me, only in the most delicious way possible. She scoots closer to me on the couch and I don't stop her. She moves slowly as if she is afraid of frightening me away. I turn toward her and she smiles, though I can see that she wants something. Her hands move across my chest. I watch them.

"This is what scares me," she whispers, and the Volturi robes spread beneath her fingers. I aid her as she pulls the thick fabric off. It lands in a heap on the floor; a dull, echoing thud. Beneath are my human clothes: a worn, threadbare button-down shirt and jeans. I don't change these often given that they are always covered entirely by the robes. "Now I'm not as scared."

"I don't –" I begin to say, though she cuts me off with a finger to her lips. At what point she began to have complete power over me, I cannot pinpoint exactly. All I know is that I will do what she wants, what she needs.

Her fingers are at the collar of my shirt, only briefly and barely touching my skin. I have long since stopped breathing. I watch her with a peculiar mix between relaxation and stress, fighting to keep control while simultaneously reveling in the sensation of her skin on my skin.

"Stay still," she says, and before I know it three of the buttons are unbuttoned. I inhale sharply as her palm finds the bare skin of my chest. I pay for that inhale. The air is a sweet mixture of her scent, sweat, and blood. Somewhere away from this fabricated reality, the Guard is feeding.

I back up three steps and hold up my hand.

_Stop before I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you._

She looks shocked and disappointed. Her hands lay limp at her sides and she stares at me with empty eyes. I would apologize, but I can't risk another inhale. She must think I am rejecting her, though I am doing anything but. Her lower lip trembles but she does not cry. Instead, she squares her shoulders and takes three smalls steps, closing the gap between us. She places her hand in my raised one and presses lightly, attempting to make me lower it. I allow it.

Tentatively, her fingers stroke wider arcs along my skin. I don't dare breathe.

They run along the top of my chest and up my neck and along my jaw and under my eyes. I watch her until my eyes drift clothes, and her fingers skirt along my upper eyelids and down my nose. They hesitate slightly before my lips, and then they are there with only sensitive, light pressure. My eyes open again and she is much closer to me, her fingers still barely pressed against my lips. She looks at me with her lips parted slightly, and I briefly wonder what it would be like to touch them with my fingers, with my lips.

"Edward," she whispers with this heady sort of breath. I still her hands with one of my own and draw them down between us. My other hand runs up her neck toward her temple. I feel the heartbeat, but mostly the overwhelming warmth that seems to emanate from every part of her. I feel gentle pressure on my other hand, though when I look down I realize that she is grasping it so hard that her knuckles have turned white. I run my fingers through her long hair, my movements awkward and stilted from confusion surrounding being put to this use. "How long has it been?" she asks softly. I watch her lips move.

"Never. It's never been," I admit, and the last of my air is gone.

"Me neither. It's okay. It'll all be okay."

She moves in a way I don't expect, though should have expected. Her lips press against mine only barely, though the shock of heat is so surprisingly and consuming that I startle backwards, pushing her away.

"It'll be okay," she repeats, determined now. She steps forward and, in my intent to back up, I realize that my back is flush against the wall. She moves quickly, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me again. It is reckless bravery, and violent, unearned affection that I cannot reciprocate. I am frozen under the sensations, too easily overwhelmed for this to be real, to be safe. I then feel her tongue and lose all control.

I grasp her hips too harshly, too strongly. She gasps and surrenders to my movements. My lips move against hers ruthlessly until she cries out. The cry brings me back to reality. She is prey. She is victim. She is food. I immediately drop her and pull myself into a crouch, growling.

"Edward, I know you're in there. Come back to me." Her voice is sweet and calm. She is confident in her words.

My growls, somewhere deep in my chest, have lessened. I still feel heady with lust and bloodlust, though the haze around my mind is somewhat clearer than moments prior.

"There. Good. Stay with me," she says softly.

I watch as she moves the robes she wears aside, rubbing absently at her hip. The skin there is red, bruising. Again, I am only able to cause harm.

Disgusted and distraught, I flee.

I race through the confines of the underground, blowing past the remaining meal of my comrades. They glance up at my abrupt departure, though seem to think nothing of it. I am hardly a cause for concern in this place, for no one knows me well enough to tell when something is off. When I reach the surface of Volterra I realize it is still glaringly bright outside. I skirt along the shadows, jumping through light faster than visible to the human eye. I hijack a fast car parked along the side of the road, sliding into it and leaving the city.

I don't know where I'm going, but I'm going so fast that the speedometer is twitching and the gas pedal is touching the floor. My hands encase the steering wheel. They grip too tightly and the plastic succumbs to them, crunching inward. Frustrated, I pull off to the side of the road.

I am in a new city now. It is the one just bordering Volterra. I have been here before, but not often enough to consider it frequent. The door across from me advertises a bookstore in Italian, its paint chipping and wearing thin. I duck into the doorway in order to find escape from the sun. There are few people inside, though the few that are stare at me with a combination of fear and confusion. I duck my head down in order to shield my red eyes, though the Volturi robes still look strange and foreign to them.

She asked me to stay with her and I left. I couldn't stay with her. I would have killed her.

I find a secluded place in the back of the bookstore. I pick up a book of no importance and pretend to be occupied before any wandering eyes. There are none, and I spend too long back here, wallowing. If Carlisle could see me now he would be ashamed. I cannot even face my problems, nonetheless solve them. I wonder if he is seeing this due to Alice's visions. I begin feel angry over the intense breach of privacy, though calm down when I remind myself of my own gift. If anything is an abuse of privacy, reading someone's thoughts must take the cake.

I begin to flip through the pages of the book when I realize someone has been watching me.

_Who _is _that? Certainly, I've never seen him before. Perhaps I can make a new customer_

I quickly translate her thoughts from Italian to English. She begins to walk toward me with wonder and determination. I pretend not to notice her approach and continue to thumb through the book. I don't know why I am playing this game. There is no point for me to. She will ask why I am here, I will tell her I am browsing, and she will walk away. That is all that will occur. Yet, I am playing along, pretending to be human for her. Where these changes are coming from, I am not completely sure.

"Are you looking to purchase?" she asks in rapid Italian. I look up, pretending to be startled by her arrival. That is when I know she won't make it out of this bookstore alive.

She looks exactly like her. She doesn't smell like her, no. But she looks so much like her that it will be impossible for me to have restraint. Her hair is a long, dark brown. Her skin is pale. Her eyes are wide and doe-like. But they aren't empty. No, there are thoughts behind those eyes. As I stare at her she begins to wonder why I have not spoken. She wonders if I'm crazy. And, lastly, she wonders if I am going to kill her.

I am.

I lure her outside with sweet words. She only responds to them because she believes that if she cooperates, I will spare her. My eyes are too red to salvage my humanity.

When I bite her, I am disappointed.

She is a poor substitute for all I want but can't have.

I kill her quickly. There is no need to prolong this moment. She is just another tally on my record, so to speak. She is lifeless now. I carry her to the outskirts of the city and dig a hole with my hands. We are in the middle of a large, empty field. The grass whispers against my legs, swaying slightly in the breeze as I dig scars in the earth. I fill the hole over her body with the displaced dirt. I am quick and efficient, and once the hole is filled entirely, I put a flower on her grave.

I return to Volterra as the sun sets. There is little traffic on this road, this road that seems to stretch to infinity. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, angry against my jeans. I am almost positive that it is Carlisle, partially because of what I've done, and partially because Demetri is the only other person with my number. I ignore its rings, though he calls back two more times. I am beginning to grow annoyed, and finally answer it if only to stop the ringing.

Before I have the chance to greet Carlisle, he speaks.

"Jane is in your room."

My eyes widen and I snap the phone shut. I break into a full sprint, my muscles welcoming this intense release of energy. I don't understand how she is in there. She is breaking Aro's direct orders. I reach the outskirts of the city and blow through it, cloaked by the darkness of the night. Though I am running for mere minutes it feels like hours. What if she's dead? What if Jane's killed her? There is nothing that would prevent Jane from doing so. A strong sinking feeling in my chest propels me onward, deeper into the cavernous pits of the Guard.

Again, no one stops my advance toward my room. Demetri is surprised that I am back, though. When I left earlier he had assumed that I wouldn't be coming back. That assumption is something I can no longer fathom.

The door flies open and Jane is perched on the couch, Isabella on the opposite end. She is curled up beneath her robes and seems surprised by my sudden, flamboyant entrance. While Jane doesn't show any emotion it is clear that she didn't expect me to arrive so soon. Her thoughts scream thwarted. Perhaps I will owe Alice some thanks after all.

"Oh, Edward. Bella and I were just talking about how her boyfriend's favorite thing to do is shoot rifles," Jane smiles pleasantly, talking aloud only for Isabella's benefit. It is strange to hear her called Bella. It occurs to me that I have never asked her name. I have only heard it in the thoughts and voices of others.

"He's not my boyfriend," she mumbles, though it is loud and clear for Jane and me.

"You're not supposed to be in here," I snap. "Get out."

Both Isabella and Jane look at me with a small amount of surprise; Jane because I am usually docile in her presence, and I cannot tell Isabella's cause. Frustration leaks into my thoughts but I push it back. There are more important things than hearing Isabella's thoughts.

"So feisty," Jane says shakily, laughing awkwardly into the silent room. It sounds dull and flat, and the noise is quickly swallowed by the tension and quiet. The walls seem to reverberate with my anger. It is a pulsating sensation that pushes me deeper into my crouch, preparing to lunge.

"Aro gave specific orders."

"Do you think Aro scares me, Edward? I am infinitely more powerful than Aro. I can prove that to you right now." Her eyes flash, visibly threatened. Isabella's eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. I only briefly glance at her, ensuring her safety. At this moment Jane needs my full attention. She stands up and faces me, smirking slightly. I have paused for an inappropriate amount of time and she now believes that she has the upper hand.

"You need to leave," I say slowly.

"Are you threatening me?" Jane asks innocently, her eyes wide with amusement. My lips pull back over my teeth and a growl slightly. I cannot figure out a way out of this. With her deliberately breaking Aro's request, there is no other line of defense between the Guard and Isabella.

Before she can drop into a defensive crouch, I lunge.

But still, I am not fast enough.

Moments before my fingers grasp the hem of her robes in the intent to throw her aside, she has forced me to the ground, convulsing. It is so painful that my eyes are clenched shut as if to ward some of it off. It doesn't work. I feel hot hands on my skin and screams, screams. I clench my body into the fetal position grasping at anything to make the pain stop. It could have been moments, it could have been decades; either way, it finally stops.

I gasp an inhale and there is a new, lesser pain. It is the one I can place. It is Isabella's scent.

She is very close to me now, both of her hands on my shoulder. I blink and look up at her, vulnerable from my position on the floor. Jane towers above the both of us with her head cocked to the side.

_Interesting _. . .

And then she is gone, out of my range.

I push myself up and away from her touch. She seems hurt and I don't know what to say. I close the door soundly and lock it.

"You can't let anyone in here," I scold her even though I know she could not possibly hold any vampire out. I am placing blame on her when I can be the only one held accountable.

"I'm sorry," she says, though she shouldn't be. It was my fault. I shouldn't have left.

She sits back down on the couch, her eyes drooping. It must be late now, too late for a human to be awake.

"Sleep," I attempt to persuade. She rolls to the side on the couch, curling her legs up to her chest. She watches me pace in front of her in worry and frustration. I no longer have any control and I can't handle it.

"You're making me anxious," she says softly.

I take the hint and sit across from her on the floor of the room. She is still watching me. I avert my eyes, feeling both uncomfortable and embarrassed. After awhile she falls asleep, her head resting on her palm like the way humans fall asleep in movies. She breathes deeply and her face softens.

I don't leave the room the entire night.

When she wakes the next morning she seems startled to find me in the same position. I grimace in a bit of embarrassment at that fact, feeling like a common pervert. She doesn't say anything. Instead, she picks at the rest of her food absently. Somehow I will have to pick her up more food. Somehow, sometime, I will have to leave her in this room unguarded. The fact frightens me.

"Edward?" she says suddenly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes," I answer immediately only to realize the repercussions afterward.

What if she asks me to take her away? What if she asks me to take her home? What if she wants to leave me forever? What if she wants nothing to do with me?

My thoughts race in an insecure and juvenile fashion as I wait for her to speak. Though when she does, I only feel ashamed.

"Do you have a phone that I could use to call my dad? To tell him I'm okay is all." She fidgets as she awaits my answer, her fingers intertwining as she stares at them intently.

"Of course. Isabella, I'm sorry," I respond, apologizing for much more than withholding the phone. She seems to pick up on this and nods slightly. When she looks up, her smile is watery.

"It's just Bella."

I hand her the phone and allow her fake privacy. Stepping out into the hallway, I close the door behind me. I hear her dial the phone and her increased heart rate as she awaits her father's answer. At the very end, he finally does.

"Dad?"

It's too hard to hear the other end of the conversation, though the buzz sounds loud and distraught.

"No . . . I'm fine. Dad, I promise. Please . . . no! Don't call the rest of the squad. You already did? Tell them I'm okay."

There is more buzzing on the other end of the line, even louder than before.

"I'll see you soon. Dad, I have to leave now . . . yes, I promise. I miss you too . . . I love you, Dad. Don't get in too much trouble without me."

When I am sure that she has hung up the phone, I quietly open the door and join her again. She is looking at the floor with her hands in her lap, clutching the phone. She looks up when she hears me. Her face is blank, and before I know it she is handing me the cell.

"Thank you," she says, "He was getting pretty worried."

She is struggling to act nonchalant and it hurts me.

"If you need to use the phone again, um, just let me know," I manage, returning the phone back to my pocket. She nods in response and looks back at the floor.

I don't know what to do now, lost in a limbo between right and wrong.

A few minutes later I hear footsteps walking toward my room. It is Demetri, and he knows better than to walk inside.

_Aro needs you for a trial_, I hear from his thoughts outside the door. He walks away quickly. I assume he is angry with me and I understand why.

Bella is still sitting on the couch and I have to leave the room. My fingers flex in indecision. I can't defy Aro, but I can't leave Bella alone. I run outside and catch Demetri the moment before he leaves the hallway. He swivels around and faces me with one eyebrow quirked.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods.

"Just stand outside the door to my room. I promise I'll explain later," I speak in a rush. "And don't let anyone in. That is important. That is vital." I get the last of my words off before I race to the great room. I expel the air in my chest with a rush, gathering myself before opening the double doors and entering.

There are three vampires awaiting trial, all held in submissive positions, awaiting decisions.

"Edward! Welcome," Aro calls, beckoning me over with his hand. I begin to walk but he stops me with his voice. "Oh, wait! Bring Bella."

Shit.

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Romeo and Juliet**_**. **

**Thanks to revrag for the read and beta.**

**You can also read this at www(dot)adifferentforest(dot)com.**


	5. but if i had to perish twice

But eventually, the sun rises after twilight. Do not doubt that it also rises.

_Doubt the stars are fire,  
Doubt that the son doth move,  
Doubt truth to be a liar,  
But never doubt I love._

_O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers._

And then the day begins anew, only slightly different than the last. Feelings of change permeate us, surround us, enclose us in its threatening grasp like we are but mold in its strong hands. We fall beneath its pressures, sinking into sagging earth like the absent dewlaps of my features. Why is it that one sinks faster than the other? Why is it that there is impossibility in staying even, staying sane?

Fingers intertwined, I reach for you; my light, my hope. But there is too much space between us, too much distance that I somehow cannot breach.

"I will wait for you," you say, like a promise impossible to keep. But you cannot wait; you will not wait; you should not wait, for I am stone. Day after day, new light after new light, there are only small erosions in my solid, sheer cliffs. They break off like little fragments of memories once held, once saved. I gather them like little pebbles drifting around my palm. Pieces of you.

As the days pass and the light brings the same, ever-present sun, the distance between us increases. I want you to wait for me; I want you to leave me behind.

How I have undermined my fall from grace!

I have not fallen; I am stuck in mindless, stony abyss. I am everlasting as a mountain, stoic as the stream rushes through, constantly moving. The feelings in my fingers and toes insist on rebellion, insist on change, but my mold is too strong, my affliction too great. Nothing can be done to hold you with me, to keep you with me.

I am the coastline and you are the ocean, constantly pulled by the twilight's moon.

#

I turn around with trepidation. My eyes seem to be burning in their sockets, my heart burning in my chest. In a way, it feels like I am changing again; burning all over. This must be a second death, a third, fourth, fifth. I feel it all the way to my fingertips, aching and clawing as the pain tries to escape my skin. I come to realize that it isn't the burning that is scaring me the most, it is the fact that I can't feel it. A peculiar numbness is replacing the incessant burn and I feel completely detached, hovering over my body as a writhe on the floor. Jane smiles in peculiar restraint, her eyes trained on me as she awaits another order from Aro.

Aro is annoyed. He watches my form with his lips pursed. He doesn't know why I did not immediately affirm his request to bring Bella. I don't know, either. It is like all of me shuts down and I am no longer able to move, to think. I know this is the end, our time together so short that it's only a minuscule fiber in the tattered quilt that is my life. I wonder what I could have done to prevented this, and quickly decide there is nothing. My entire existence is a cursed one. It hurts everyone it touches, including Bella. I imagine her waiting inside my room, completely unaware that she is going to die soon.

At least before, with me, she knew she was going to die. Perhaps she had even accepted this. But now she has to go through it all again, though this time with the rug swept completely beneath her feet. Jane still smiles at me, blood red lips quirked upward in satisfaction and perverse arousal. I then realize, in my strange detachment from self, that Demetri is also in the room. He only stares at me, his face blank. If Demetri has joined us, who is protecting Bella?

No one, for Bella is standing right next to Demetri, staring at me with her eyes wide and screaming, screaming. Is this some torturous hell that I must withstand? Is all of this just some purgatory, and I actually died in 1918? Have I finally, finally reached the end of my sentence, leaving mortal body on the ground and elevating to intangible self? No, of course not. For the moment Aro waves his hand, Jane breaks her stare and I thunder back into my stone skin, my stone surroundings. I twitch once, my muscles adjusting, before pushing myself into a sitting position.

"This is what happens when you simply cannot follow my orders. You don't like that, do you, Edward?" Aro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Caius is grinning in glee; he enjoys watching pain almost as much as he enjoys giving it. He pets Jane on the head, his palm encasing her flaxen blonde hair almost entirely. She purrs at his touch, tilting her face to give him more access. I watch the caress for a few moments, staring with an almost confused wonder. How is it that beings so dead can give and receive such affection? I don't understand.

It is like watching corpses kiss.

The three vampires that are actually on trial still kneel in their positions, though they watch us with amazement at Jane's power. They believe that I have created a suitable diversion, and perhaps they will be freed. I almost chuckle at this concept, for Aro's burning plans are almost completely finalized. Of course, he wants to deal with me first.

"Edward, would you come here? You are making me tired. I feel tired," Aro requests, though it is impossible for us to feel tired. "Because you chose not to leave the Guard, you do have to do what I say. You know this, don't you? Of course, I only have your best interests at heart." Aro continues to speak, though it is impossible for us to have a heart.

"I understand," I say quietly, moving to my place beside him. I carefully and quickly move my eyes to Bella, who stands partially obscured behind Demetri. It almost seems as if Aro has forgotten about her, though I am sure he has bigger plans than I expect. She stares back at me, her eyes wide and questioning. I grimace quickly, wishing more than anything that I could just get her out of here. Of course, there is nothing I can do but stand here and await my fate.

_If something happens, I'll pull her out into Volterra and mask her location. _

It is Demetri. He stares at me, a stony gaze. I nod my head in exchange for thanking him profusely, which I will surely do later. He nods back quickly – too quickly for the vampires that are distracted by the trial. I avert my gaze as to not create more suspicion, moving all focus to the trial. But, almost immediately, my mind begins to wander. If Demetri were to mask her location, would I ever see her again? Would she remember me? Would she care? How do I request her care, how do I request her reciprocation of my feelings? How do I request this when even _I _don't understand my feelings?

The three vampires are now center stage. They move around each other, preparing to fight. I don't even remember hearing the sentence, but it is clear that a duel was ordered. The vampires, named Allison, Qiddist, and Katrina, were fighting in public. In order to solve the problem – which was clearly deemed unsolvable by Aro – the three would fight here, and the survivor would be allowed to live. My eyes search for Bella again. I don't know how the vampires will restrain their attraction to her blood, especially when they are fighting. It then occurs to me that all vampires outside the Volturi constantly live with the presence of blood. They are able to push it to the back of their brains and focus on the task at hand.

And the task at hand is, currently, killing each other. Qiddist snarls at Katrina, her dark, almost black eyes flashing as she drops into a crouch. Katrina growls in response, which leaves Allison plotting behind their backs, planning on picking off the one left between their quarrels. Qiddist is about to launch herself at Katrina, but she is suddenly stopped by Aro.

"Hold!" he calls out, freezing the spar. "Food's here."

It is then that I realize the exponential increase of the wet sounds of beating hearts. Bella's eyes dart back and forth between me and the doorway to the great room. There is nothing I can do but wait this out. I will not be permitted to leave the room, nor will Bella.

As the group files in it is clear there are no diversions possible. All of the humans are not native to Volterra, therefore available to the Volturi. The group is of approximately twenty adults, primarily over the age of twenty five. But, in the back, a toddler follows his mother, his pudgy arms clutching the tails of her shirt. His eyes are wide and frightened, and I watch as Bella immediately spots him in the crowd. She takes a small step forward but, thankfully, Demetri pulls her back.

Demetri watches one particular human with thirst. His attention is frayed – Bella is no longer in the forefront of his mind. I find myself inching along the wall to Bella and Demetri. Aro hasn't yet noticed that I have left his side, and most likely won't notice until he is done feeding. Perhaps we can slip out when they begin. I swallow and prepare to hold my breath, taking one last deep inhale before any of the blood spills.

Watching the vampires step casually closer to their prey is like watching wolves descend on an already injured critter. They scurry about mindlessly, though the group of humans unconsciously moves closer and closer together, becoming more compacted. Aro, Caius, and Marcus always get first pick. They step away from their thrones and slowly walk forward, their shoes barely tapping against the stone floor. I reach Bella, stepping in front of her and reaching backwards, wrapping my arms tight around her wrists. I begin to move us from the room, slowly and hesitantly. With only one small stumble from Bella, we almost make it out.

But we don't.

"Hold!" Aro calls again and the entire Guard ceases to move. Caius grumbles in annoyance, his face set in a deep frown. Aro swivels and faces us like he was aware of our movements the entire time. Hell, he probably was. He smiles at me. It is a very small smile that tells me he knows infinitely more than he previously let on, and he is about to inform me of it. "I heard some information from a reliable source that Bella here wants to be a vampire."

Immediately, my eyes dart to Jane's. She is grinning like a Cheshire cat. I want to kill her.

But . . . wait, what?

In a decidedly stupid move, I turn my back to the Guard and face Bella, my eyebrow raised in question.

"It was just a thought. Just a thought," she whispers hastily. One vampire in the far corner of the room snickers, though everyone else is silent. Even the humans pick up on the notion that this moment is too fragile to be tampered with.

"You don't know what you're asking . . ." I reply harshly, my voice muted and sharp.

"Exactly!" Aro interrupts our conversation, fabricated privacy as it was. "That is why we should show Bella here what it truly means to be a vampire."

"Aro. . ." I begin a foolish reprimand, which only spurs him on.

"First off," Aro smiles, and then rolls his eyes, "Those three are getting on my nerves. So, Edward, out with it. Who should die? I am much too old and much too esteemed to be dealing with these petty issues of betrayals."

I quickly scan their minds. I don't even notice what the original argument was, only that Qiddist was the only one to truly show herself to a human, thus endangering our secrecy. Of course, she killed the human afterward, but I could tell that Caius wanted blood. With Caius placated, I have a better chance of getting Bella out of here alive, and me intact.

"That one," I reply almost begrudgingly, in a way that plays toward what Caius wants to hear. He glances towards me, then leans forward in his seat in excitement. This is his favorite part: the shock when the vampire realizes I can read its mind. Qiddist glares at me, her eyes wide with a sort of empty fury. She isn't going to attack me as others have. I know this because there is an underlying sadness in her stance. I wonder if she came here simply to die.

When I point Qiddist out Bella lets out a small gasp from behind me. What, did she think me not able to sentence my peers to death? Did she think I would give her a fair trial, some sort of human jury? No. This is my realm, and in my realm mine and Aro's fingers are equivalent to the touch of death. Though I am not the one doing the killing, essentially I am.

I pull Bella farther behind my back as the Guard descends. I know that they will quickly lose control once the ligaments of Qiddist begin to tear from her body. I can feel it in my bones. I realize then that Aro has planned this. He doesn't want the Guard to exhibit a polite, cordial—dare I say, human?—feed in front of Isabella. No, he wants her to see the carnal nature of vampires. He wants them to lose control in front of her. All in all, he wants to scare her. In focusing all of my attentions in placating Caius's bloodlust, I failed to recognize the most powerful manipulator in this room: Aro.

Skin tears and bones break under the powerful hands of stony flesh. These are sounds I am used to, though Bella cringes into my back like some helpless puppy trapped in a storm. I give up on protecting her. There is nothing I can do now. I can't leave. I'm not a hero. My valiant escape is none. Slowly they die, one by one falling to the floor in a mass grave of pale, blood-less faces. These pictures are burned into my mind time and time again. I feel no shame, anger, bloodlust. The latter surprises me. Bella's blood is so deeply ingrained into my senses that I feel no bloodlust even towards other humans. It is sad but true.

What would she say if I were to taste one? Would she act differently around me? That is what I want, after all. I want her to see me for who I truly am. Then she will run and I will be pacing the stone floors of my room alone, like I deserve. Maybe if she runs she will get out alive. After all, I think I have Marcus on my side. For some reason, that decrepit vampire likes me. I often feel as I am disappointing him in the same way I disappoint Carlisle. Failure after failure.

A man is crawling toward me, all pale features and wide eyes.

"Savior, savior," he calls to me, "savior, savior!"

"Save him, save him!" Bella calls to me, "save him, save him!"

I ignore the both of them. He crawls—expression vacant, eyes glassy, hair thinning, clothes frayed. He weeps for someone: his wife, his daughter, does it matter? I can't save him, it doesn't matter. Demetri ends up killing him on the spot. He makes it half a stone, if that. Aro cackles, laughter reaching outward like branches, breaking off of the stone, shattering, crashing. It takes mere moments for Bella to fall on the stone floor.

"Blood," she says, "it's the blood."

If she were to die now, would I be sad? No. Maybe. Probably not.

Her head cracks on the stone. Cracks like a bat hitting a baseball into the cool night air.

Vampires descend—wolves, hungry wolves. I bat them away. Shoo, pest. Be gone, pest. They taunt me, circle me. They want what I have. They want it, they want it. Bella lays limply beneath me. My thoughts are jumbled in my head, the stream of consciousness run awry. My foot brushes against her stomach. I feel the pulse, I smell the blood. No one can have her, I think, I scream.

"She is not yours, Edward. She is ours, Edward. She is ours. Ours." Aro's fingers link. Jane is smiling, stalking towards me. Caius is murmuring something to Marcus. They are plotting something. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. Thousands of thoughts run amuck, mingling with the thoughts of the predators slowly closing in. They want her. They think her blood is sweet, like I think her blood is sweet. It burns the back of my tongue. I will kill her if they don't kill her, and if I will kill her, why let them have her? She is mine.

"She is not yours." Aro.

I pull her into my arms and we move down the hall. I am not running. They won't follow. I know they won't follow. After all, it was staged. They were never going to touch her. Aro was waiting to see how long they could push me before I fled.

Unsurprisingly, I failed the test.

Bella's head bleeds on the couch. I should probably cover it up, but there is something cathartic in watching the blood ooze and stain the cushions like a slow-moving tide. I wonder at what point I slipped from my measured reality into this abyss of black and grey. She doesn't wake up for some time. Probably blood loss, possibly not. I nod off in the only way that I can; I make my mind blank. I stare at the ceiling, constantly memorizing and re-memorizing the smallest flecks in its design.

I considered moving to Spain once.

Their history is the best, all torture devices and religious persecutions and whatnot. I always figure it sort of fascinating when people—humans—believe themselves to be holy. Why not vampires? After all, we are the ones that were born from the dead. I was resurrected. I can be holy, right? Sure, I've certainly nullified the whole "thou shalt not sin" aspect of religion, but I can partake in the other stuff, right? I'd just have to go to confession every week and say, "Oh, I killed a man. Oh, I killed another man. Oh, and another."

But it's okay because I'll be pardoned, right? I can just work it off in purgatory like everyone else, right? I get that chance too, right?

Bella wakes up. I tell her I wanted to move to Spain once. She stares at me, her head quirked to the side. She doesn't ask me any questions on _why _I want to move to Spain, even though I am completely ready to spill all of my religious insecurities. It is for the best, I suppose, for she reaches her hand to her head and feels the blood. She asks for bandages that I don't have.

"Take this," I say, handing her a shirt that I ripped. Ever hear the sound of a shirt ripping? It's a very nice, clean sound. She takes it from me and wraps it around her head, putting pressure on the wound. I would help her, but I am pretty sure it would be a bad idea to get any closer to her than I am right now. She lays back down on the couch, resting her head on the ripped piece of shirt. She is staring at me with questioning, intense eyes. They are haunted now. I have made them haunted.

"Don't look at me like that," I request, diverting my eyes.

"I'm not looking at you like anything at all," she replies. She then bites her lip like she is trying to decipher how she might be looking at me. I then think about how I want her hands all over my skin, warming up the cold, damp feeling that seems to be covering my entire body. Instead, she sticks her pinky finger in her mouth and bites at the fingernail. With my hearing I can hear the repeated clicks every time she bits down on the nail. Soon, it begins to bleed, and I want to shake my fist to God for hounding me with these petty burdens.

Can I not have purgatory in the afterlife like everyone else?

Demetri knocks on my door a few times. He then pauses and leans his ear against the door. I listen to his mind register Bella's small fidgeting sounds, including her heartbeat and the small clicking noises of fingernails being bitten and falling to the floor.

"My cat used to lick her butt a lot. You know, to clean it," Bella offers into the silence. Demetri chooses that as the appropriate moment to walk in.

"I'm sorry you had to see what you had to see, Bella," Demetri says too quickly for her to understand. Bella pretends she does and nods. Demetri accepts that as an answer and sits down beside me. He presses his hand against my forehead like my mother once did when I was sick in bed.

"You feeling okay?" he asks. "You look off."

How does one _look _off?

"I feel off. No, I feel detached." And it's true. It's like I'm no longer inside my body. Instead, I'm sitting alongside it, staring impassively at Demetri as he tries to decipher what it is that is wrong with me. Bella curls her legs underneath her butt where she sits. Again, I am struck with the desire to feel her skin on me, around me. I wonder what it would be like if her legs wrapped around my hips tightly.

"Oh!" Demetri cries like he's had an epiphany, "You need to hunt!"

I leave Bella unguarded. I don't feel like caring. I don't really feel anything at all.

Demetri pulls me through Volturi and into the neighboring city. Apparently we aren't going to be chasing after small animals today. We stop in various shops and stores, though no one smells particularly appetizing to me. In fact, they pretty much all smell exactly the same. Demetri ends up scaring one woman—hair curly, cheeks flushed, stomach plump—by throwing her up against a wall and literally forcing my face into her neck. I politely step away, muttering apologies as she stares at me red-faced and blubbering.

"Maybe we should call Carlisle," Demetri mutters, defeated. He rubs the back of his neck and I want to remark on how human that particular action looks. I choose not to only so that he won't leave me alone in this strange state of mind.

Carlisle answers after only the first ring, and I listen passively as Demetri explains my peculiar emotions to him. I hear a few words here and there on the other end of the line, though the one exclaimed with the most exuberance is about how I left Bella alone in the room with absolutely no trepidation. Then I hear Alice's quiet, "But I don't understand what's changed" in the background. Carlisle then orders Demetri to give me the phone.

"What's wrong, Edward?" he asks.

"Your voice sounds much different on the phone. Sort of strange, like you're underwater but simultaneously in an electric current. I don't think I like it very much," I say, mostly because it's the first thing that comes to mind and I want to share it with someone.

"Did anything strange happen today?"

I try to think back, but can't remember anything before Bella's blood oozing in small circles onto the sofa cushions.

"I don't think so. . ." I trail off, and Demetri immediately grabs the phone from me.

He then tells Carlisle about how Bella was forced to watch the decapitation of hundreds of humans, followed by Aro's attempt to scare me into killing Bella in front of the Guard. I calmly think, _oh, that! _Demetri hands the phone back to me and I take it, thanking him kindly. There is a man walking down the sidewalk as I grab the cell. He smells almost delightful, and I immediately drop the phone in the sudden acknowledgement that a human doesn't smell absolutely repulsive to me.

I hear, "Edward, are you there? Are you there?" as I drain Rodolfo of all of his blood.

"Sorry about that," I apologize when I pick up the phone off of the ground. Demetri is staring at me with a bemused expression.

"I think I know what may be going on, but this is exceedingly strange to happen in a vampire. Alice just showed me what happened—somehow she missed it ahead of time. What were you feeling when you realized that Aro had manipulated you into trying to kill Bella in front of the Guard?" Carlisle is speaking in his calm doctor voice. It amuses me, but only slightly.

"He wasn't just trying to manipulate me. They were all coming toward me. They were coming closer and they were going to take her from me," I reply slowly, feeling small flickers of anger spark somewhere deep in my chest. I hear Carlisle huff on the other end of the line. He covers the phone and mutters something. I can't hear exactly what he's saying, but my hearing is good enough to know he is speaking to Alice.

"In Alice's vision, no one is moving. Edward, I think you may have had a panic attack and your body is now recuperating by leaving you extremely calm."

"Carlisle, vampires don't have panic attacks," I chuckle.

Bella is alone in my bedroom right now. She is unprotected and unguarded. Anything can happen.

"Did you ever have any when you were a human?" Carlisle asks. He is speaking slowly, slowly like I am a child. I am not a child. Anger is burning through my gut like acid now.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" I snap. Demetri is looking at me like I have multiple personality disorder. Maybe I do. Either way, we have to get back because Bella could be _dead _and it would be my fault. There is a dead man at my feet. His eyes are still open and the red semi-circle seems to have two more eyes of its own. He is staring up at me. He is blaming me for everything. I wonder who his family is, but it only lasts for moments as I am already running back to Volterra.

I shut the phone, no longer willing to hear any of Carlisle's amateurish theories. Demetri is hot on my heels.

"Edward's back," he mutters into the wind.

I am so angry I can feel it all the way to my fingertips. The cause of this anger is unknown, but it is billowing up inside of me and soon it is going to come out. My head feels like it's going to burst due to these rapid changes of emotion. Perhaps I _am _crazy.

We descend into the underground. Demetri and I part ways somewhere in the main hall. He does not care about Bella as I care about Bella. He doesn't care that she might be dead, dead in my bedroom because I chose to leave her entirely alone. There is a lump in my throat as I tentatively open the door to the room, only to find Bella staring at me with eyes as wide as an owl's.

I pace back and forth. All of the anger has no outlet. I want a fight. I need a fight.

"Do you want to hear more about my cat?" she asks quietly.

"No!" I shout, and it is too harsh, too quick. She looks momentarily stunned, backing into the couch at the force of my answer. Yet, I can't bring myself to repent. "Did you lock this door?" I ask. When she takes too long to answer, I repeat it. "I said, when I left did you lock this door?"

"Edward. . ." she begins, but I cut her off.

"No, that is my name," I snap. "Did you lock this door?" I enunciate every syllable.

Her lips part and she might answer, but it doesn't matter because I suddenly have an urgent desire to kiss her. So, I do. Her lips part beneath mine and I place one hand on her cheek as the other begins to wrap around her waist. I am probably touching her with too much force, but she tastes too good and her lips are warm and soft. We inhale at the same time, and I taste her with such potency that by the time I can register what I'm doing, I'm already leaning the length of my body over her as her back rests against the couch. My fingertips are underneath the cotton of her shirt, my shirt, and brushing against the soft skin there. Before I have the chance to venture any farther, I feel a sudden sensation against my cheek.

Bella is pushing herself away from my chest. Her hand is red. I realize that she slapped me.

"Edward, go."

I raise my hands up. What did I do?

"Come back when you're calm. Go."

And that is the first time—but not the last time—I follow the orders of Isabella Swan.

#

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Hamlet**_**. Hamlet writes a letter to Ophelia, but he fails at poetry. Also, Polonius (Ophelia's dad) snatch and grabs the letter and reads it aloud. He's none too happy about its contents. I agree with him, the main character in Shakespeare's plays should be able to write poetry. ;)**

**Thanks to revrag for the read and beta.**

**I appreciate every one of your comments on this story!**


	6. i think i know enough of hate

**It might be best to read this chapter on 1/2 for formatting. (Upper right hand corner of your screen.)**

#

_O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!  
That, notwithstanding thy capacity  
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,  
Of what validity and pitch soever,  
But falls into abatement and low price  
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,  
That it alone is high-fantastical._

Will you hate me . . .

#

The guilt rushes over me like a wave. I can't pinpoint its exact origin, but I am sure that it is all-consuming. I move away from Bella as she asked—for I am quite sure I will always do as she asks—only to come upon Demetri and Alec talking conspiratorially together. I almost run right into them, actually. Alec looks up, all harsh eyes and hard lines. Demetri, on the other hand, looks eerily remorseful. I nod my head in apology and skirt around them, winding through the dark passages until I find one of the art rooms.

It is a shame, all of these priceless works hidden so far down in this deep labyrinth. Marcus, an avid collector with a cruel sense of humanity, purchased the works before the artist sought the fruits of his labor, and ensured that the artist never would. Marcus believes that fame in humans is the ultimate downfall, and refuses to give any of his "little pets" (as he called his artists) any recognition for their work. There is a reason many of the artists become famous only a few years after their death. That reason is Marcus.

I sit down in the corner of the room in a peculiar sort of time-out. I am not sure when the appropriate time would be to return to Bella. Honestly, I don't feel any different. I don't feel repentant. I only want to be with her longer, and I can't do that without her consent. It feels wrong. I lean my head against a painting. The canvas succumbs to the stone, but it doesn't tear. No, these paintings, though almost completely unseen, are kept in pristine condition.

I don't know how long I sat there before Demetri knocks on the door, entering simultaneously. His face is still calm and apologetic, and it belatedly occurs to me that I cannot hear his thoughts. Has he been practicing? I can hardly be bothered to notice. Always, it is all about me, not those around me. Demetri walks over and sits beside me, though he doesn't need to. The robes fall gently against the stone floor in soft ripples.

"I have a confession," Demetri says as if he is the sinner and I am the priest. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, though feel it more proper to leave him without my gaze. "I'm done with it."

"I don't think I understand," I say after the silence runs too long. We are both talking to the air in front of us, empty and impersonal.

"You know I've been here much longer than you have . . . too long," Demetri begins, though he ends up trailing off by the end.

"So you're leaving the Guard?" I ask. It is only right. He has been here much longer than most of the Guard, including myself. I can't even fathom serving for that long, always at the beck and call of Aro's needs. I suppose he doesn't leave for the same reason I don't; there is no one outside waiting for us to emerge.

"No." His answer confuses me, and my eyes, breaking our unspoken truce, dart to his face. He stays strong, refusing to look at me.

"You mean you're done with –"

"Everything," he says, finishing my question for me. We stay silent for a few moments, letting it sink in. It is peculiar quiet for I can no longer hear Demetri's thoughts. It is true quiet, not the relative quiet I have come to live with up until this point. It is Bella quiet. "I'm telling you this because all of my location abilities will be lost afterward. Aro will no longer be able to track people, unless the person is witnessed by someone he reads."

"I'm not sure how that pertains to me," I reply, both of our voices still void of emotional attachment.

"It doesn't now, but I believe it will," Demetri says as if he has infinite knowledge. It angers me.

"Why does everyone else seem to know so much more about my life than _I _do?" I ask, fuming. "Demetri, think about this. There can be so much for you outside the Guard. You at least have to try. . ."

"Edward," Demetri sighs, rubbing his fingers in circles on his temples, "You are so young, and so lucky. You have Bella sitting in your room. Edward, you _love _her. It is so damn obvious that you do. Yet here you are, telling _me _that there is more for me, but not grabbing what you have right in front of _you_. I am done with this half-life Edward. But you . . . _you_ are not."

"Demetri, you can't just leave me," I protest.

"Oh, Edward," he sighs, "It's for the best."

Demetri leaves me here, silent and surrounded by priceless art. The room is empty and, truly, it has always been empty. I think over what Demetri said. It occurs to me that I never asked him when and how, only the why. For all I know, that could have been my last conversation with Demetri ever. And it is the only true conversation we have ever had.

I move slowly back to my room, still hesitant as to whether I should be returning at all. From a silent stance just outside I can hear Bella's soft heartbeat and quiet breathing, telling signs of her sleep. I open the door quietly only to confirm my assumption. Her hand is cupped beneath her chin, her body curled in the fetal position. I take off my robe and drape it over her body. Still sleeping, she grasps the hem of the robe and pulls it up to her chin, jaw tensing and relaxing. I sit across from her as she sleeps. Hours feel like minutes in the tranquil calm and silence, though my mind plays a repetitive, _is Demetri gone_?

She awakes slowly with small movements. I watch her shift into consciousness; her eyes blinking rapidly as she let them adjust. Her fists come up and rub at her eyes. I watch her look at me but not really see me. I can tell the exact moment when she does: she looks pissed.

"Are you back to normal?" she asks, head tilted to the side. She reaches for the remaining food and begins opening a wrapper of something that looks utterly unappetizing.

"Yes," I reply, even though I can hardly think of anything as frivolous as speech while she is eating.

She walks towards me, all kinds of purpose in her step. Then my face is in her hands and she is staring at me intently, and all I can really feel is warmth.

"What do you feel?" she asks, and when I answer "warm", her lips are on top of my lips. They are soft kisses, sweet ones. I tilt my head to the side to deepen it and she obliges, pulling on my shirt as I run my hands up and down her back. She is like water, oxygen: both things I don't truly need, I suppose, but wouldn't dare living without. She begins to make soft noises as I move my lips down to her throat. Her skin pulses against my mouth, throbbing hard under the force of her heart. I pull the delicate flesh into my mouth, feeling everything. I feel gentle pressure on my chin and realize that she is trying to pull my face back to hers. I gasp into the concentrated air only moments before she recaptures my lips. I am no longer in control, but not in a bad way.

I let out a groan as her hands run up the inside of my shirt. Never have I felt something so perfect, so warm. She smiles slightly against my lips, a rosy and devilish smirk that I adore. She stops, leans her head to the side, cheek against cheek. I begin to tilt my head down to her enticing collarbone, though she stops me by pulling back slightly.

"Do you love me?" she asks, serious and sincere. My breath catches for a moment, my mind whirls. Demetri assumes that I do, but he hardly knows me. I know I feel strongly about her. I know I feel a strong pull toward her. But I don't know if I love her. And if I am not certain, I can't tell her that I do. I have never felt love before, save for the distant memory of familial love. I know love in the thoughts of others, in the sick infatuations of perverts, in the embrace of grandparents. It all seems sort of sickly sweet to me. Sickly sweet with a touch of needy dependence.

And then she smiles.

I

feel it. My mind reels, confused. My  
body does not allow me to embrace this  
emotion. I

have

struggled to confront something  
so completely transforming, so completely  
irrevocable. It has

never

wanted to comprehend something  
so all-consuming. It washes over me,  
an unstoppable force of uncertain magnitude. It

felt

incredible; it is swallowing me  
whole. But I want it to. Please, show me  
how to be

like

this forever. Show me how to keep this  
love. To hold this love with me. To make  
it permanent. So

this

fleeting feeling of perfect harmony never  
deserts me. Please don't  
bring me back to the

before,

because I don't know how I'll live now.  
I don't know how I'll breathe now.  
I don't know how I'll survive now.  
I don't know anything at all.  
And it scares me.

So I lie.

"No."

I feel the guilt explode in my chest while I answer. Her smile drops. Gone, just like that. I did that. What would Demetri think now? She pushes away from me, walks back to the couch. I feel like I have lead all through my body. She stares at me for a moment, and then gets up and leaves. It is unsafe. She shouldn't be out there unguarded. That is the only thought that enables me to get up from where I am sitting and trail her. I watch from a safe distance as she walks to the bathroom. She doesn't notice my following. I am much too quiet, of course. She showers and uses the restroom, and when she finishes I duck into the doorway just in time for her to miss me.

While she sleeps that night, I find resolve in my decision to lie. The instinct is there for the right reason. I am protecting her. There is nothing to hold her to me, just as I held Carlisle to me. Through love. All it does is hurt the other person. I can't hurt Bella for 100 years, as I had hurt Carlisle. Now, once I get her out of this particular hell, she will be able to go home and forget all about me. She will have a normal life, this small interruption just a horrific nightmare to forget about.

"Please Bella, you must understand," I whisper as she sleeps, my cold finger running from her temple to her chin, back and forth. She doesn't move, only curls tighter in on herself. Her muscles and face look strained, not the peaceful sleep I am used to seeing her in. Her hair, still damp, sprawls across the couch in a wide arc. It is darker when wet, a deep chocolate that I see in her eyes every day. As the night grows later and it dries; it becomes softer and lighter. I touch it with my fingertips, slowly, barely.

She moves slightly in her sleep but doesn't wake up. I sit beside her for a few long moments before a timid knock on my door breaks me from my concentration. My first thought is that Demetri has changed his mind, though on the other side of the door stands a newborn vampire. He can't be over the age of 14 or 15, and his attention immediately turns to Bella. I snap and growl, quickly dropping into a defensive crouch. But the thirst consumes newborns, and we collide with a thundering crash. In the back of my mind I can hear Bella awaken. I can hear the slight intake of breath that signals her shock, and the sound of her feet backing toward the far wall, stumbling slightly.

I am quicker and much more efficient than the measly newborn, and I have him pinned with relative ease. Just because it occurs quickly doesn't mean I am any less infuriated.

"Who are you?" I spit out, my voice too low, quick, and intense for Bella to hear. He only looks at me, his eyes wide and black. He was thirsty before he came down here. His thoughts are wild and without abandon, a mad rush that is overpowered by his thirst. With his thirst, of course, comes mine, and it is increasingly difficult to keep myself in check with Bella's heart thundering in the background of my interrogation. "I asked, who are you?" I repeat.

"Mark," he throws out, though I know it isn't his real name.

"Why are you here, Anthony?" I ask, using the name I pulled from his mind, the one he tries to cover up. His eyes widen further when he recognizes my power. Already, he has given up.

"It isn't my fault, it isn't my fault," he tries to plead, his voice a broken record.

"Who sent you?"

"Aro. He told me to come and get you. He didn't tell me there would be a human here. He didn't tell me why. You have to believe me. You have to," he speaks with sincerity, and I probably would have believed him even without the confirmation I hear in his remembrance of the situation. Aro had requested him to come and fetch me, and he had done it intentionally. He picked the thirstiest, youngest vampire and sent him straight for Bella. Again, I am fuming with anger.

"Okay. Go, get out," I snap. He runs away like a small, scared rabbit. I turn around and face Bella. She stares straight back at me, her face eerily emotionless. I have done that, for all I ever cause is hurt. I begin to walk toward her. She crosses her arms over her chest defensively. I stop. "I'm sorry –" I begin to apologize for so much more than the intrusion.

"Save it," she cuts me off. "Sounds like you have somewhere to be, anyway."

I stand still after she stops speaking, unsure of how to placate her. What can I do but apologize? I have nothing to offer. I can't even offer her her own freedom. All I can do is take, never can I give. I have taken everything. Left her, literally, with nothing.

But there is one thing I will never take: her love.

I lock the door from the outside (yeah, like that will keep anyone out) and wander toward the great room. If I am going to a trial, I don't want to participate. If I am going to anything other than a trial, I _really _don't want to participate. Either way, I have to participate. I walk slowly, biding my time, though I eventually reach the main room. Aro sits where he normally sits during trials, flanked by Marcus and Caius. I look toward where the persecuted sits only to find the chair empty. He beckons me to him. I take measured steps, trying to keep my calm as he watches with benign humor.

"Hello Edward," he smiles. "Care for a handshake?"

I immediately freeze up. Normally, I would have offered it to him without a problem. I had nothing to hide. Hell, Aro knew everything. But not this time. This time I have Bella to hide. What will he think of my feelings for her, of our interactions? Will he take her from me? I don't put that out of his power, especially not after sending the newborn to my room, practically inviting him to feast on her. What will be his gain out of taking her from me? Am I just a pawn in his sick game? Yes. Probably yes.

"Edward, that is an order," he clucks. "You keep doing this to me lately. It is as though I am not even your leader anymore. I'm quite disappointed in you, you know. You were so promising. . ." he trails off, reaching his hand out to me. "Well, go on then. You know what happens to vampires who disappoint me too much."

Yes, I know. They get pulled apart and burned.

Slowly, achingly slowly, I reach my hand forward to touch his. Just barely—that is all it takes—and my entire existence is flashing before my eyes like a cruel slide show. Honestly, it takes my breath away to see it all in front of me. When we reach Bella—it could have been moments, it could have been decades—Aro begins to smile slightly. He has something planned, and, if I truly have to admit it, it scares me. By the time we break contact I feel drained. It is like laying my life out on a silver platter, waiting to be judged.

"You know, you never told me that you couldn't read her thoughts," Aro accuses me like we often tell each other our secrets, and this is something strange. He seems to ponder this for a moment, stroking his jaw with the tips of crusty, bony fingers. He turns toward me, his long hair brushing over his shoulder in a dead, limp sort of way. "I think I've made a decision. I've changed my mind from what we spoken of before his arrival, Caius," he says, speaking to Caius though he doesn't bother to look over his shoulder. Instead, he keeps his blood red eyes on me as Caius harrumphs. Marcus, listening intently, bows his head and begins to nod it up and down. I even think I see him smile slightly.

"Before, Edward," he begins, speaking to me now, "I believed Bella was nothing more than a distraction. I was bothered by it, of course, because you no longer totally belonged to me. I thought that after we gave you your singer, you would be much more vigorous and lively in your attitude toward the rest of the Guard. In fact, I believed Bella's blood would persuade your diet to perhaps a more . . . traditional outlook."

Lively? Vigorous? The words hardly make sense to my ears. For how, in the depths of this bottomless hell, can it be possible to feel both lively and vigorous? Aro continues to talk but I tune the majority of it out. Believe it or not, I have already deduced the majority of Aro's motives before he explained them to me. I assume he knows this, but Aro has a thing for the flourish and longevity of the story. I tune back in when he speaks of how he has changed his mind.

"But there are two things that made me change my mind. The first is that you dearly care about her. In fact, you love her, don't you?" Aro smiles then, though it is more of a smirk. He tilts his head to the side and stares, eyes hazy and emotionless. "Yes, you surely do. Anyway, that is the first reason I changed my mind. For why kill Bella, your distraction, if you have so obviously mated with her?"

I blanch at his words. Kill her. All the while he has been counting down to this moment. After all, the Guard owns her. Either way, I fear she will die. Either she will die on our attempted escape, or she will perish under the planned hands of my superior. But with the former, I can try. We can at least attempt to get out of this underworld. I will do it. I will get her out. Somehow. It is then that I realized that Aro is still talking.

"But then I decided, she has such an _amazing _power. You can't even read her mind. Surely I can't, and surely Jane's powers will not work on her either. What a wonderful asset to our little Guard, she would be. We would be unstoppable. After all, I have heard stories of certain shields that are able to protect not only themselves, but those around them as well. All it would take is a little training. . ."

"So she wouldn't die?" I blurt out.

"Well, I suppose not in the traditional sense, no. But I'm ordering her change from human to vampire, by you. That's final. Thank you for coming, Edward. Be sure to bring her here once the transformation begins." He then has the audacity to smile at me, like everything he has just said hasn't been the ending to my entire existence.

"But Aro," I try to protest, but am cut off before I can even start.

"I made my decision." He is walking away from me now, back to where Caius and Marcus sit. Caius; I don't expect sympathy from, nor did I receive any. Marcus won't even meet my eye. I pause before leaving; waiting for something, anything. Nothing changes. No one reacts. I walk away.

I can't face Bella. Not after that, not after before. I call Carlisle but he doesn't answer. I stare at the phone, hardly listening as it recites the automatic answering machine. I try to call him two more times, though I am screened each time. I don't leave a message. I turn off the phone only moments before the beep.

I can't find Demetri. Hell, perhaps he's already done the deed. Somehow, I doubt it.

I then realized that, changing under me, Bella will have 100 years with the Guard. She will have to serve them for an entire century. Is this the meaning of karma? First Carlisle, now Bella? After all, I am not going to leave Bella. It is not even a scenario that has crossed my mind. I turn a sharp corner to find Demetri staring at me. He sits, silent and still, no reactions at all. But something in his face propels me into action. Is it the sharp, intense stare? Is it the slight curve of his mouth, pointed downward in disappointment? Is it the way he turns from me the moment before I leave his line of sight? I can't be sure. But I know I have to act. Now.

I thunder through the hallway, though I make almost no noise. Bella is sitting in my bedroom, her eyes closed but definitely not asleep. I begin to throw everything that I own onto the floor in order to mask her scent. The majority of the clothes were sitting in the drawer the entire time she was in my room. I can smell her on everything, though some articles less than others. I only hope that others will not be as attuned to Bella's scent as I am. As I throw a clean robe at Bella—offering no explanation, mind you—my phone rings.

I flip it open at lightning speed. Carlisle. Now he chooses to make contact. Lovely. I turn off the phone.

"Edward, what's going on?" Bella asks, her voice breaking two octaves.

Honestly, I am not entirely sure. This hasn't really been planned.

"We're running." And that is all I know.

Suddenly preoccupied with the fact that anyone in a large proximity can hear us, I motion to her that we have to be quiet. She understands, and I watch helplessly as she pulls on the new robe. I then know that the action is futile. It doesn't mask her scent at all.

"Stay quiet," I whisper, lifting her in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck and digs her face into my chest. It is probably one of the most intimate situations we have ever been in. Some small part of my brain, built to capture these moments and play them on repeat forever, takes a quick snapshot just before we rocket out the door.

And we almost make it.

But then we don't.

"Where are you going?" Jane asks. Both she and Alec stand before me, arms crossed. Bella turns away from them both as if their very sight repels her. I have to admit that I feel almost exactly the same way. And then I begin to lie.

"I'm getting her some food from Volterra."

I can see the exit too. I can see it; right behind Jane's left shoulder. I can almost taste our freedom. But I know better than to act irrationally, especially in front of Jane.

"Aro's orders are that no one leaves tonight. Least of all you," she smirks, showing in her mind his direction to station various members of the Guard at each of the underground exits. Naturally, I choose the one that houses Jane. Such is my luck. "I do believe he assumed that you were going to try and escape. I guess he was right."

"It's not escaping. After all, my 100 years are up. I can leave any time I want," I say smoothly.

"Yes," she laughs, calling my bluff, "but she can't. After all, finders keepers, right?"

I struggle to keep my fist unclenched as to not bruise Bella.

"Why don't you put her down, anyway? It's not like she's a child. If you really were getting food, she could have just walked right alongside you. Or is your need for speed simply overwhelming your lack of common sense?" she smirks. Alec laughs softly beside her. He is constantly trying to outshine his smaller, more powerful sister. He is also constantly failing. I choose to use that.

"Alec, too weak to get your own exit? Have to be paired with your sister, as per usual?" I ask. He scowls at me, wrinkles creasing his marbled face.

"Aro just likes the both of us together," he says, defending himself.

"Yes, because someone needs to have your back," I pretend to mutter.

"Maybe it's me that has _her _back," Alec snarls, angrier now.

"Okay, let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Jane interjects, smiling a coy smile.

"What, you think you're so much more powerful than me?" Alec asks, turning on Jane now. I watch. Everything is going according to plan. Maybe we will get out after all.

"I don't just think, I _know _–"

And we do almost get out after all.

But then we don't.

"What's all the commotion about?" drawls a heavy, slow voice. It is Caius. He walks languidly as he speaks, robes draped over limbs like the old curtains on a dusty window. When I turn around he smirks.

"Alec and I were keeping Edward and his human inside, under Aro's orders," Jane interjects, now on her very best behavior. Alec also stands straighter, flexing his muscles.

"Yes, and a very good job you've done, obviously," Caius speaks sarcastically. "But I think I'll take it from here, if you don't mind."

"Of course," they stammer, their voices tripping over one another. Caius turns without another word, though I know we are to follow him. I put Bella on the ground by my feet, whisper for her to remain calm, and grasp her hand in mind. She stays close to my side as we walk—too quickly for most humans. She trips alongside me, though I keep her from falling. Caius brings us to Aro, who is already shaking his head at me in disapproval.

"Somehow, I expected this of you, Edward. I don't want to expect this of you, but I did. And for that reason, I am prepared," Aro sighs as if I am disappointing him more by merely being in his presence. "Well, let me at least see Bella." He then holds out his hand as if he is uncomfortable with even the prospect of a human touching it. Well, I suppose he probably is. I gently coax her hand forward. She looks to me for confirmation. I only nod my head and wait for their hands to touch. Bella looks confused when they do, and I realize it is because Aro's gift does not work on her either. "Wonderful!" Aro exclaims. "You will be an absolutely wonderful addition to the Guard."

"What?" Bella asks suddenly, then blushes.

"Have you not shared the fantastic news?" Aro asks, feigning shock. I stare at him with empty, dead eyes. "Forgive me if I have spoiled a surprise. Bella, you are going to be changed tonight! I am truly excited for you to join our ranks." Aro then gives Bella one of his sweetest smiles. Bella doesn't return it. Instead, she looks at me. All I see is fear.

"Well, I must be off," he sighs. "People to see, you know." He nudges my shoulder like we have shared a private joke. "I'll speak with you in three days, Bella. You will have a lot to learn."

He disappears and we are left in silence.

When I lay Bella down on the couch in my bedroom, she doesn't cry.

"Will it hurt?" she asks.

"Yes," I answer.

She only nods.

"I will be here for you when you wake up." I try to ease her worry.

She only looks away, eyes averted.

"I'm so sorry," I say, attempting another apology.

"Don't be," she smiles. "After all," she begins, cupping my cheek in her warm hand, "you tried."

And then I bite.

#

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Twelfth Night.**_

**Thanks to revrag for the beta.**


	7. to say that for destruction, ice

. . . or will you simply forget me?

She smiles to the shadow across the way  
There's an understanding that you don't understand  
Watching as you are, watching in the window  
You pretend that you know her, that you're protecting her  
But you're not. You're simply not  
She's leaving now, and she reminds you of yourself  
Walking through life even though it's raining  
Even though it's raining and the cold, wet dew is sinking into your skin  
Sinking into your bone  
She takes shelter and you wonder how it is possible  
That one being can look so  
Perfect  
You stand outside and watch  
Jealous of the warmth, jealous of everything  
But then you realize  
Perhaps her skin and bone and flesh is better off in there  
And now your thoughts are a selfish evil  
Because all you want is her outside with you  
In the rain and cold and wet  
Watching as the dew sinks into her bone

Because you see her  
You see her standing there like you know her  
But then you realize that you don't  
And that she can be anyone else  
And that she can belong to anyone else  
Anyone that isn't you  
But you reach out anyway thinking, maybe; just maybe  
And you catch the tips of her hair in your fingers  
And the wind runs through  
Rushing, gentle, pulling from your grasp,  
Away from you like the destiny it is  
And you cry out, "What about me?"  
And she turns to you, questioning  
Eyes of fire, eyes of steel.  
"What is it that you want from me?"  
And you can't answer her question because you don't know yourself  
And even though you want to scream, you stay silent  
She stares at you, burning holes through your skin  
Poisonous, venomous  
And you realize that you have most certainly failed her  
And you want to take it all back and exclaim,  
"It is all my fault!"  
But you know that you can't  
And she walks away  
And you realize that you don't know her  
That you never truly knew her  
That you never even tried  
And you clutch your arms to your chest  
And cry

#

She screams and screams and screams and screams and screams.

Of course, that is only after her thrashing agony against my body, my teeth and lips securing her tightly with me against her will. She gasps and cries out as I pull the delicious blood from her neck. The memories are rushing into me as quickly as the blood does—beautiful, unstoppable.

_The course of true love never did run smooth._

The blood, on the other hand; now, that's smooth as sin.

I feel it fall down my neck and it is effortless, the numerous ways we fit. Eventually she quiets and I know I'm doing this wrong; I know I'm killing her. I know it deep down in my bones and when I begin to imagine her dead, empty, cold; and when I begin to imagine, perhaps, just how easy that outcome can be, my phone rings. Of course, it's Carlisle. Of course, I can barely hear it over this rushing, streaming ecstasy. I take a breath. It is unnecessary, unconscious, life-saving. I see Bella's hand grasp my wrist, her eyes fluttering in this disgusting state between consciousness and imminent pain.

I apologize to her, though not aloud. I can't do it aloud. I don't know why. My palms incase her face. Her skin, normally lukewarm against my ice cool is warming by the second. She is no longer tepid; she is fire.

"Edward," she gasps.

"Edward, Edward," she gasps.

"How could you? How could do this? How could you do this to me?" she gasps, gasps, gasps.

I can't even listen to it anymore. I can't even hear. Her blood is inside me, filling me in a way that makes me want to vomit, to purge myself. I take and take and take and I can't give anything at all. She begins to feel not only the heat, but the pain as well. Her hand is hot between mine, as though it was in a pit of burning charcoal. She can no longer speak and I am grateful. My guilt relishes in my pain, flopping around in my stomach like a demon as I protectively circle Bella.

Occasionally I hear a curious vampire, his or her ears trained on the curious sounds of an incessantly screaming victim. They come closer, sometimes, though they mostly stay far enough away. They have heard rumors that my formerly quiet demeanor has transformed into one both volatile and unpredictable. It is something I don't understand. After all, I still feel and act as submissive as a god-damn human.

My fists clench and unclench at my sides.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass. No one comes to check. Not even Aro.

_What is he waiting for?_ I wonder. I can't help but hate him. It's something I can't help.

I pull her hair back off of her face. She is sweating, her body trembling in this appalling sort of way. It doesn't stop. I don't remember the torture lasting this long. Why does it hurt more watching than feeling? I touch her limp palm with my fingertips. She flinches away. She's instinctually rejecting me now. The clock creeps along, each second piercing through me like a sharpened blade. She cries out again. It sounds like her heartbeat is slowing, though I am sure my mind is only playing tricks on me.

More hours pass. It could be days, but I can't tell. No one comes. Bella no longer screams, only shakes. I wonder if this is what it's like when watching a human die. No, for I've heard it tends to occur peacefully. This—this is something much worse. This isn't dying; this is watching someone be burned alive. Her heartbeat slows again. This time it must be real. This time it has to be real.

When she wakes, do I tell her that I'm sorry?

She inhales sharply, the rhythm in her chest slowing tremendously. I touch her cheek. It is solid and cold. She is no longer flushed. Her skin is malleable to my fingers, though it will no longer be to anyone else's. There is silence in this room. I hear nothing. No breathing, no heart, no thoughts save for the ones running rampant in my own head. The quiet is eerie. I feel like I can drown in it.

"Bella," I try, for she hasn't opened her eyes, though her heart stopped many minutes prior. She doesn't move. "Bella?" I try again, more forcefully. My hand brushes up and down the length of her arm. She is pale as a ghost and inherently beautiful. The immobile statue of a china doll. Before I can blink she is sitting, staring at me with eyes of bloody red. I am more afraid in her presence than I have never been in the presence of anyone.

There is something wonderfully powerful in her position. I can see it just behind the glowing lust of thirst in her gaze.

"Edward," she says. Her voice is different and I don't think I like it. I don't think I like it at all.

"Are you feeling okay?" I ask, but it's a stupid question. She laughs aloud, right in my face. Like a cackle. Like we are sharing a secret joke that will end in someone's downfall. She holds out her hand in front of her face, tilting it back and forth. She does the same with the other hand.

"I suppose my nails will be chipped for eternity now, right?" she asks in a monotone. It's rhetorical, but I can't help floundering for some sort of answer.

I have the overwhelming urge to tell her that I love her instead.

She stares at me and furrows her brow, and the world goes dark. It is like blacking out, though I can hear and feel everything around me. I hear myself gasp suddenly. I feel my arms moving up and down, though I'm not controlling them. I feel myself stand and stretch. I try to scream but my mouth doesn't move. I fight for control of my body and lose. And then, just as quickly as I lost control, everything is back. Bella is staring at me, her eyes wide and empty. Shocked.

"What the hell was that?" I all-but yell. She only shakes her head at me, bewildered.

We are interrupted by a slow, steady clap to our right. Unbeknownst to us, Aro was in our presence the entire time. There is a small smile on his face and both of his eyebrows are raised. He steps forward only one or two paces, his robes moving around his ankles steadily. I can hear Caius and Jane in the hallway, waiting. I unconsciously shift my body in protection of Bella, though I realize if anyone needs protecting here, it is most definitely me.

"Well, that was rather interesting," Aro smiles, walking past me and next to Bella. She stares at the floor. She doesn't know she can crush Aro in an instant if she so inclined. "I was wondering what talents Bella might have after she has been changed." Aro grasps her hand, caressing it minutely. "She has retained the shield, obviously. Though it looks like her power extends far greater than her own mind." Aro turns toward me, raising an eyebrow. There is an uncomfortable silence, and both Jane and Caius enter the room.

"Carlisle has already purchased you a flight from Volterra to the States," Caius smirks. I realize he has been waiting anxiously to tell me this, though I can't comprehend why.

"I'll call him and tell him I'm staying here," I say with as much confidence as I can muster, though in my company my voice sounds embarrassingly frail.

"It's not your choice. We're ordering you out there on assignment for one year." His smile is growing wider now. He thinks he's trapped me.

"Well, perhaps I am deciding that I no longer want to be affiliated with the Guard."

I except Caius to fall into my trap, but I have the distinct feeling that the opposite has happened.

"And you're just going to leave poor Isabella?"

And it does. I have fallen into Caius's trap.

"I, I–" I begin, only to realize I have no answer.

"Quit stuttering, Edward. It's extremely unattractive," Aro interjects. Jane laughs quietly at her spot by the door.

"Isabella is looking rather thirsty," Jane says suddenly. Aro and Caius nod their heads in agreement. I can't bring myself to look at Bella while we all walk together to the great room with Aro, Caius, and Jane trailing behind. I can tell that she is looking at me, though. But I don't want to look. I am afraid to find sadness and disappointment in her eyes. I am afraid to find hatred and disgust. I am afraid.

There is a large group of humans milling about, running their fingers along the walls like obnoxious tourists. They point out details of the room to each other, utterly oblivious to their true surroundings. I can hear Bella whimper quietly beside me. She is thirsty.

"Patience, sweet girl," Aro coos, and I wonder why he is being so incredibly nice to her. He is usually impatient and annoyed with newborns, at best. Never does he give them pet names, nor pay them any attention. Aro smiles at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking, then moves to stand between Bella and me. Bella doesn't notice this—she is focused on the sight in front of us. The humans are herded together. The entire Guard is present now. They are about to start.

I hold myself to the far wall as I watch them descend. Aro stays close to Bella the entire time, watching her with the eyes of a predator as she blindly kills human after human. She is indiscriminate and sloppy. By the time the slaughter is completed her clothes and robe are drenched in blood. She doesn't notice until a few minutes after the commotion has stopped, her body visibly coming down from the high. She looks around, bewildered. Aro comes up beside her and places a congratulatory hand on her shoulder. She smiles slightly under his praise but her eyes are searching, searching.

I can't watch it anymore.

So I leave.

I take a back route that Bella doesn't know about. I don't say goodbye to her. I don't say anything to anyone. The human secretary bids me a good afternoon as a leave. I hardly notice it. I only pick up on obvious things—the small details are lost on me, or simply registered in a place I no longer have access too. I notice that it is very bright outside. The sky beats down on the stone like a pounding drum. The humans are wearing sunglasses or shading their eyes. Cars reflect wayward strands of light as they zip through the street, destroying shadows and splashing through leftover puddles of water from the rain the night prior.

I make my way through shop after shop. I don't know how much time I have before my flight. I find it hard to care. I steal a car, though it isn't very fast. The seats are leather, but worn down and frayed beneath my hands. The steering wheel sticks when I turn too far to the right. I somehow make it to the airport, the way memorized from other occasions. The sun has set now. The stars are hidden by the lights of the city, a murky cover to a formerly brilliant night sky that I have memories of. I used to be able to see every star from just outside Volterra's entrance. I spent many nights cataloguing constellations with Carlisle. We were bonding.

I can't see any of them anymore.

My flight takes off and it's claustrophobic.

I can't feel anything.

I don't feel it when the human beside me falls asleep, his breath rushing over my chest. I don't feel it when he throws his pudgy arm over the armrest and lands on mine. I don't feel it when the attendant brushes her chest against my shoulder when asking if I would like a drink or peanuts. I don't feel angry or annoyed when a child won't stop crying. I don't feel upset when Italy falls invisible outside of the window. I don't feel hatred when I think of the rest of the Guard. I don't feel welcomed when I think of Carlisle waiting at the other end of this flight. I don't feel happiness or hatred or relief or sorrow.

I don't feel.

Carlisle is standing beneath a florescent light. He is alone, and for that I am marginally grateful.

This is not a homecoming; this is a purgatory.

He throws his arm over my shoulder. It isn't comfortable. He is acting like my father when he isn't my father. I don't have a father anymore.

I didn't bring any luggage with me. I don't really own anything. We walk together to his car, waiting in the parking lot of the airport. It is sleek, fast, and black, but I don't find myself admiring it. Instead, I simply throw myself into the passenger's seat and wait. The drive to Ithaca is long and silent as death. Carlisle doesn't try to talk. I don't try to talk. After many hours on the road we pull up to a house that I have seen many times in Carlisle's thoughts. It has obviously been renovated, though. Esme is the only one that waits in the driveway, though I can hear the anticipatory thoughts of the rest of the coven inside of the house.

I have never been around so many humans and so little vampires.

The house is surrounded by woods, but the city of Ithaca is teeming with human activity and life. As we step out of the car the garbage is being picked up by the garbage man. I can tell he worries about this particular stop, and he is thinking about being uncomfortable seeing us outside. He has never seen the residents before, but something about the aura of the house makes him feel uneasy. He does his work efficiently and eagerly moves on to the next house, leaving me alone with six vampires. Why do I feel like the human in this scenario?

Esme walks up to me and hesitates.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

I want to answer, "I feel like that's a stupid question." But, I don't.

Instead, I say, "Fine."

She nods—disbelieving—and pulls me into an awkward hug. I don't even know this woman. I manage to extricate myself and look to Carlisle.

"We've cleared a room for you up on the third floor. It's the farthest room down. It overlooks a gorge," he says.

"Thank you," I reply, and am about to remove myself from their presence when Esme speaks again.

"We weren't completely sure what you liked but Carlisle gave us some ideas. There are a few books and CDs, and a lap top if you want to use it. If you need anything else feel free to use one of the cars. Or you can simply ask; we may already have what you need." She is wringing her hands in front of her chest. I am making her nervous and I can't even bring myself to care.

"Thank you," I say again, this time with a slight edge in my tone. Carlisle notices and glares his disapproval. I don't mind much. I'm sure I deserve it.

I scoot past them and inside the house. It is wide and spacious. It doesn't look lived in. Everything is in pristine condition. To my mild amusement, I spy a bowl of fruit sitting on the counter in the kitchen. It isn't even molding. I pick up one of the apples and throw it up and down, pocketing it and taking it up to the third floor. I hear the other members of the house debating as to whether to leave their rooms and greet me. I am thankful when they choose not to.

I find the room designated for me. It is sparsely decorated—only a couch in the corner and a bookshelf containing the things Esme already explained. I pull the apple out of my pocket and stare at it blankly. It is shiny, almost to the point where it looks polished. I marvel at that fact, spinning it around in my hands. I can almost see my reflection.

I spend three weeks in the bedroom. Demetri taught me a trick once. All I have to do is make my mind extremely blank, and it is like sleeping. I stare at one spot on the ceiling and keep my breathing steady, only focusing on the steady fluctuation of air in my lungs. At first, the other members of the coven think about me all of the time. It is near impossible to get them out of my head. But, over time, they begin to think about me less and less. They don't care that I am hiding away, taking one of their rooms and never leaving to see the daylight.

The first three weeks end and I decide to no longer try to feel anything other than numb. I open the blinds to the bedroom for the first time as well. Esme was right; I can see one of the gorges. I press my forehead against the glass. It's chilled with winter air. I notice that a fine layer of snow has coated the ground and the branches of the large trees. The sky is a cloudy gray. It looks as though it will snow again soon.

I debate with myself before leaving the room. I'm not sure I want to converse with the rest of the coven, but I suppose that I'll have to deal with it at some point. When I walk down the stairs the family masks their surprise. Their eyes dart toward me and then away, quick like I am something horrible to look at. Maybe I am. Two of the boys, Jasper and Emmett, sit on a couch playing video games. Alice sits between them, her face carefully calm. The former ruckus of the video game battle is swallowed by my presence. There is an empty seat next to them—a lone chair. I walk over to it and sit down.

The tension in the room is thick. They are shooting at each other on the screen, but it is somehow half-hearted.

"What game are you playing?" I ask tentatively.

"Halo," Emmett answers, his muscles flexing as he furiously punches the keys. Jasper's eyes continually look to my face and away. Eventually, they both ignore my presence. Alice smiles a tiny grin, and I lose myself for a couple more hours.

The days run together that way. I have no contact with the Guard. There are periods that, if I had a human memory, wouldn't have realized existed. I live in a relative fog, only answering when spoken to. I go on hunting trips with the family. Seeing Alice's visions in my mind is a pretty peculiar experience. It is as though her gift is now mine, though the future is always changing. I ask Alice not to watch the Guard's future. Her visions almost always include Bella, and I don't want to feel that. I just don't want to feel. Carlisle increases his camaraderie with me, though I am obviously reluctant. Surprisingly, the person I bond closest with is Esme. She reintroduces me to the piano—something I haven't used since I was a human. It is her favorite instrument, and I agree to teach her how to play simple things.

We do this more and more, until the rest of the coven knows not to disturb us when we are at the piano. I see Carlisle watching sometimes, smiling. He imagines me living with them permanently, carrying on this life with them into eternity. Ideally, that would be the plan. But I know I won't be able to stay here. Not with all of the things I am hiding from. Not with all of the things I am avoiding.

It takes eleven months for me to finally break down. Rosalie is watching some movie on the television. I'm staring at it but not paying attention. I am in my usual state of numbness. Esme walks over and asks if I can give her another lesson on the piano. I agree to do it with little reluctance.

We play a few notes. She smiles and laughs like she usually does. I lean forward, placing her hands on the keys and inhale, only to realize she smells different. I inhale again and she gives me a strange look.

"Is everything okay?" she asks. She even runs her fingers through her hair, self-conscious.

"Yes," I say, but it's a lie. My mind is attempting to deny the fact, but she smells exactly like Bella. We play for a few more minutes but every single breath is reminding me of her. I inhale again and close my eyes. It isn't as pungent or as strong, but the similarity is uncanny.

"Why don't we take a break?" Esme asks. I realize then that I have stopped playing.

"Wait." I don't want her to leave just yet. Not when all of these memories are flowing through me, igniting my skin and making me feel. If I close my eyes just for a second it is like Bella is right next to me. It makes me hurt, and I hate it but I love it. Esme moves closer to me, though I pretend it's Bella. The smell is stronger and more concentrated. My eyes are clenched shut, keeping the emotion in and keeping the emotion out. I have never felt this way before. Not even once. I don't think I deserve it. We sit like this for ages, though I'm not really there. Every day after that Esme wears the same perfume. I stay closer to her than anyone else—even Carlisle—though I am completely sure he understands why.

The flight is booked for the 365th day of my stay in Ithaca. Carlisle and I hunt the morning of the flight. We catch much more game than we should for only the two of us. He takes me to the airport and sees me off. I hold the Volturi robes-foreign with disuse-underneath my arm. We hug and he tells me to visit, and I try to imagine that another year of his existence wasn't spent with my burden.

I am itching with anticipation by the time the plane leaves the ground. Thankfully, no one is by my side to bother me. There is still an over-eager flight attendant, though she takes the hint that I am completely ignoring her—and that, no, I do not want any more peanuts—after a bit. Thankfully, it's the dead of night when we land in Italy. I don't have to spend time lurking in the shadows. I steal the first fast car I can find and drive it from the airport to Volterra. It is a convertible. I put down the top and smile.

The descent underneath Volterra is awfully nostalgic. The same human receptionist sits in the same spot by the door. She is still attentive, though she should probably be sleeping at this time. I can tell my arrival was expected by the way Aro hovers just inside the door of the great room. He smiles brightly and grasps my hand when I get close enough.

"Fantastic to see you had a good time," Aro smiles, though it is quite obvious through my memories that I did not. I notice that one of his front teeth slightly overlaps the other. "I knew sending you to visit Carlisle would be the right thing to do." He speaks as though he did me a favor.

I smile as politely as possible and make my request. I would try to act indifferent, but after seeing my thoughts Aro knows my feelings for Bella as clearly as if they are his own.

"Can I see Bella now?" It pains me that I have to ask permission, though I decide quickly that it would be in my best interest _not _to get on Aro's bad side at this particular moment in time.

"Oh, of course!" he smiles, clapping his hands together. "I believe she is waiting for you in your room, actually. At least, that is what she told me earlier. She is looking forward to your arrival."

"Great," I grin. Aro looks momentarily surprised by my display of emotion, but he quickly masks it. I brush past him and down the hall, my feet moving far too quickly for casual walking. I open the door to my room to find her perched on the edge of the couch. Her eyes are still a bloody red, and her now-pale skin is draped by the tailored black robes.

She smiles at me, but something is wrong. Something is off.

Her hair is brushed back off of her face in long waves. I want to touch it like I once had. I move closer to her and she stands. Her features—perfect in their symmetry—are utterly blank as they watch my movements.

"I missed you," I confess unexpectedly. She smiles a bit but doesn't return the sentiment.

"I heard you were with your friend Carlisle in Ithaca," she says quietly in response. I try to ignore the fact that she didn't say that she missed me too.

"Yes," I respond, though I want to quit this small talk. I want us to be where we were. But where were we, really?

"That sounds nice, Edward." I wish she wouldn't say my name like that. Like she is saying goodbye with every goddamn word she says. She sighs a bit and goes back to sit on the couch. She pats the spot next to her, telling me to sit beside her. "I have something I have to tell you," she says, staring at her hands.

But I can't hold it in any longer. I just can't.

"Bella, I love you." I spit it out like the words are toxic. I feel winded, naked, breathless. She is silent. This is not what I wanted. Whatever is in my chest aches.

"I'm sorry, Edward," she sighs. Now it burns.

"But I don't love you," she finishes. And then it dies.

_mary, carry your babe__  
__bound up tight like lips around a whimper__  
__your fingers over my face__  
__blind eyed Samson driven to the temple__  
__and night birds diggin' 'til dawn__  
__freedom hangs like heaven over everyone__  
__ain't nobody knows what the newborn holds__  
__but his mama says he'll walk on water__  
__and wander back home__  
__mary, carry your shame__  
__well past all those eyes across the avenue__  
__fish heads running from rain__  
__you know i'll do anything you want me to__  
__lamp oil lovers may say__  
__"freedom hangs like heaven over everyone"__  
__ain't nobody knows what the newborn holds__  
__but his papa's going to hide shaking gristle__  
__and shaking like bone__  
__mary, carry my name__  
__hoof marks hacked up all i had to offer you__  
__looked all over this place__  
__lost your portrait lately when the winter blew__  
__in like herod and them__  
__freedom hangs like heaven over everyone__  
__ain't nobody knows what the newborn holds__  
__but a dollar says he'll lick that devil__  
__and do it alone_

#

**First italics: "Freedom Hangs like Heaven" by Iron and Wine. You can listen to it on my tumblr: causeineedyoursway(dot)tumblr(dot)com. You might have to scroll down a bit to get to it (depending on when you read this and how much of a tumblr whore I'm being), but it's there. It's the music video. (Or you can listen to it on youtube.)**

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**A Midsummer Night's Dream**_**. (But it doesn't really matter because everyone uses the quote and doesn't know what it's from, anyway.)**

**Only one more chapter left. Oh, snap!**

**I appreciate every single review. (:**


	8. is also great, and would suffice

Playing with words and thoughts, I feel empty. My mind trickles over this paper like leaves lost in a forgotten sewer. Interrupted. I want to step out of the shadows and caress your pale cheek with my hand, but I can't. I want to feel the way you feel underneath me, writhing and aching and saying, "I love you more than anything; I love you more than this world; I love you more than this life." But I can't. My brain, my heart, my song. It wants you. It wants everything you have. It wants everything that I know I need, but can't have.

I rip out page after page. This stupid, aching, self-indulging shit. I am forgotten, I am nothing. I think of the future only to realize there is none. There is nothing but this stupid feeling in my chest that I thought you could cure, but you can't. It rips inside me like a tidal wave, pushing against my insides with irresistible force. You led me to you like some sick fire. Some sick fire that intrigued me, that made me want to come ever closer. I should've known you were only danger. I should've known I was just kidding myself. But I didn't. I wanted you. I wanted to touch you.

restless abomination

disgusting incantation

feeling a revelation

wasted on your concentration

fighting with your indignation

suffering in exultation

flying with no destination

trapped inside my frustration

I feel it inside of me. If only you could feel it inside of you, too. Then we could be perfect. We could be like angels. We could be fantastic. But you ruined it. I ruined it. I fell. I feel. I fall. There is nothing left for me here. I know that, even being melodramatic. I watch as you walk away just as the sun sets, leaving nothing but darkness in a night with no stars. This poetic language is crap. It is all crap. I just want and want and want. I want you to return to me. I want things that I cannot change.

Fight me

Break me

Move me

Take me

Want me

Touch me

Feel me

Love me

Cry for me

Die for me

Pray for me

Save me

Need me

Like I need you. There's a roaring in my ears that I can't stop now. I couldn't stop it if I wanted to. I couldn't stop this emotion. I couldn't save myself just like I couldn't save you. You're lost to me now. You're dead to me now. You're dead to everyone now.

But I still love you.

Just like the fucking sin that I am.

_Ask for me tomorrow, and_

_you shall find me a grave man_,

Edward Masen

#

I put down the notebook. It closes with a snap. Over a century of writings and the only entries that matter are the final eight. How worthless my existence has been. How inconsequential. I have made far less impact than humans who have lived but a fourth of my time. In fact, I have not made any impact at all.

Bella left ages ago. Is it possible for a heart that does not beat to hurt? If someone told me 'no', I would have to beg to differ. I am restless. I am consumed. My entire body aches for her. How is such strong emotion even a possibility? How is it that humans are able to contain it? To embrace it? I don't understand it. I can't comprehend it. Maybe years of existence does nothing to prepare for situations such as these. Maybe, no matter how long I love, it won't hurt any less.

My muscles seem to be frozen in their positions. My couch still smells a bit like Bella. Human Bella. A year later, the potency remains. My attraction is painfully undeniable. I pick up the journal resting on my legs. I have a very vague memory of receiving it from my father, Edward Senior. On the very first page Edward Anthony Masen is written in script lettering, followed by the date, February 16, 1917. A small note—from my mother, I assume—is written in the lower left hand corner in hasty scrawl. It reads, "To my son, for him to forever catalogue the wonders of life to share with generations to come."

What a riot.

I slide the journal beneath the couch and stand. My mind is dead set in the action that it wants to take. Suddenly, I understand Demetri's sentiment with perfect clarity. I am tired. There is nothing left for me here. I am not sure anyone will even notice my absence. Maybe Carlisle, eventually. He might even mourn for a certain amount of time. Mourn his blatant failed endeavor in creating me. But, eventually, he will move on. Everyone will move on. I will be nothing more than a brief memory—or a brief blip—in their endless existences.

That thought comforts me in a perverse sort of way. I make sure that everything in my room is put away before I leave it. I am not entirely sure why I am doing this, but I realize that somewhere, deep down, I am stalling.

Maybe I don't want to die.

I push the thought aside and leave the room with only one quick last glance. I check my watch—11:45. Only fifteen more minutes until noon. Perfect. The Great Room is almost entirely empty, save for the two people I want to see the least. Of course, Aro and Bella are speaking quietly in the corner of the room. It looks almost as though Aro is consoling Bella. She is whispering quickly, almost frantically, and Aro's hand rests on her shoulder. He is listening to her with a look of sympathy I have never seen on his face before. Not in my entire existence.

I make a small noise as I walk through the hall. It is enough to alert them both of my presence, and I watch as their eyes snap to my face. I see my expression mirrored in Aro's mind: desolate and destroyed, yet determined. Serene. I watch Bella's face as I walk. After all, she's all I see. I am still moving slower than usual. I am still stalling. I watch her face contort as she tries to deduce where I'm headed. Her lips part and her brow furrows. She is still perfect.

I hear Aro murmur, "Just use your power if you want to keep him here." The last thing I see before I exit the hall is her shaking her head, 'no.' Of course. Why would she want me to stay with her, anyway? She doesn't love me.

That thought propels me out the door and into the middle of Volterra's annual festival. The sun is thick, if something like that is possible. It is thick with the sweat of every human, packed together like a tin full of ruby sardines. They cheer, whoop, holler as the procession rolls past. I watch in relative apathy. This alleyway is cloaked in shadows. Closest to me stands a quaint Italian family. The youngest daughter notices me standing, staring. She turns toward me with the curiosity of the young, tugging on the bright red robes of her mother.

The first bell tolls.

I smile. The young girl is alerted to some sort of danger present. Her expression is now one of innocent worry.

The second bell tolls.

She tugs harder on her mother's robes. But her mother, blissfully ignorant, continues to watch the exciting procession.

Three, four, five tolls.

I take off my black robes. They drop to the stone floor of the alley and I feel infinitely lighter. The young girl is really staring now. I smell her fear. I focus on it and block everything else out.

There have been eleven tolls now.

I begin moving forward, the edges of my shoes dancing in the sunlight. My body impersonates what the rush of adrenaline should be like. I feel high. I feel free.

The last toll rings out over the crowd.

I take a deep breath and step forward, surrounded by sunlight. It's warm. It's probably warmer than I've ever felt, save for human Bella. I force myself from the dangerous train of thought and step further into the sun. This feels good. I hope this is the last feeling in my existence. I almost feel whole.

"Momma," cries the young girl in Italian. She sees me as the freak that I am. After her mother's gasp of a response, I know it won't be long. I find myself wondering if it will hurt when they kill me for breaking the rules. I don't fear it, though. I don't fear it because I know that it is a means to an end. More people are staring now. I can sense it though I still haven't opened my eyes. Their thoughts are loud, intrusive. They wonder if I'm dangerous. They wonder if I am merely a spectacle of the show.

I don't have time to hear the rest, for my forearms are grasped by cold hands and pulled behind my back, followed by a deep black cloak thrown over my body. Briefly, I wonder if they are going to kill me now. Do I even deserve a trial when I have broken the rules so obviously?

I am being led back underneath Volterra by two guards I don't bother to recognize. I could probably escape them if I truly wanted to, but I can't summon the effort to try. After all, this is what I want, even if it will take longer than what is ideal. I keep my eyes on the stone floor as we walk. No need to face curious, unwanted stares.

Pressure on my shoulder forces me down to my knees, followed by an arm keeping my head bowed. I hear Aro, Marcus, Caius and one other walk into the room. The privacy of these trials is a fallacy—I can hear the rest of the Guard listening just outside the door. After all, it is once in a blue moon that a member of the Guard has committed a crime and is on trial for it. I smile humorlessly to myself. I have made quite the scene. Caius is chuckling quietly to himself, and Aro heaves a sigh of annoyance.

"Let him up," Aro mumbles almost reluctantly. The two vampires release my neck and arms, only to grab onto my shoulders and pull me into a standing position. I look up to find the fourth, previously unknown vampire to be Bella. She doesn't even meet my eye.

"Why did you have to unleash yourself in the middle of _my _party?" Marcus asks, referring to the St. Marcus Day festival the humans are currently celebrating. His hurt tone would be mildly amusing if I wasn't so impatient to just get this over with.

Aro isn't as depressed. No, Aro is angry.

"You stupid boy," he snaps. "You had so much promise. So much. And what do you do? You pull a stunt. You waste it. Is this how ungrateful you are to have such an outstanding talent?" At the end of Aro's tirades I always find the stem of his jealousy.

Instead of fighting his ludicrous reasoning, I simply mutter, "Yes."

"And now you want to die for this? You are aware that is the punishment for your actions, of course," Caius speaks, amused.

"Yes," I respond again, completely monotone. Bella flinches. Caius' smirk drops slightly. He doesn't like it that I am going down without a fight. Aro sighs again, pinches his nose. Marcus still looks hurt that I interrupted his precious festival.

"Edward, come here," Aro requests, holding out his hand lazily. I step forward slowly and watch as Aro grasps my hand. The last 48 hours play out like a dream behind my eyelids. When it is finished Aro's brow is furrowed. He throws one fleeting glance in Bella's direction before speaking. "Well, it doesn't seem as though you've left any room for salvation, Edward. Very well."

He waves a hand, gesturing for me to return to my former position. I kneel down and close my eyes, wondering which Guard member is going to be lucky enough to rip me apart. There is a long moment of silence before Aro speaks again.

"Well, Bella, dear. Go ahead, then."

Bella and I both look up at the same time. Our eyes meet. If she touches me I'll change my mind. I know it for a fact. I'm not strong enough.

"Someone else," I request desperately. Caius laughs long and hard.

"Beggars can't be choosers, Edward," Aro scolds.

"I can't have her touch me," I say quietly, though everyone can hear. Bella looks upset and Aro looks positively amused.

"Have you not heard of Bella's power yet?" Aro asks, feigning shock. "She can make you do whatever she wants—kill yourself, even—without even touching you." His lips curl into a smile.

"But only one person at a time," Caius interjects, not one to be usurped. "Quite a shame, really." Aro nods in response, seeming to agree that Bella's lack of complete power is a shame.

My eyes flash between Aro and Bella, disbelieving.

"Don't believe me?" Aro asks with excitement, eager to demonstrate. "Bella, why don't you try it out on Marcus?"

"Hey –" Marcus begins to protest, but is cut off by Aro's threatening glare. He grumbles to himself and shifts around in his seat. I watch with anticipation as both Bella and Marcus's eyes go glassy, almost as though they are covered with a thin sheen of smoke. Aro claps in amusement when Marcus stands in a jolting, stunted fashion. He spins around awkwardly and then sits back down. Shortly thereafter their eyes return to a normal, bloody red.

"My little puppeteer!" Aro exclaims. "Don't you understand, Edward? She could see out of Marcus's eyes. She could control his every movement. Marcus had absolutely no control in the matter!" Bella still stands motionless and mute. I look at her eyes and she widens them as if to communicate with me. I only have time to tilt my head to the side in question before Caius captures my waning attention.

"Let's get on with it, then!" he calls out. "I am thoroughly bored."

"Yes, yes, of course," Aro replies, calming down to a more solemn demeanor. "Go ahead, Bella. The law shall proceed."

Bella may not be my judge or jury, but she is certainly my executioner.

I close my eyes and anticipate the blow.

It doesn't come. Instead, for the first time since she left my room earlier, I hear her speak.

"Perhaps I could do it in private," she requests softly, slowly. My eyes open again and she is standing next to Aro. Too close, playing with his emotions. His hand rests on her outer thigh. My muscles tense up. She leans in further, closer. "You know, to say good bye. After all, he is the one who changed me. Maybe I want a little payback. With us, it's personal. You understand. . . ." She continues to talk, to coerce, until Aro nods his approval.

"I suppose, though Caius will not be happy," Aro sighs, and Caius harrumphs in agreement. I don't know why she's doing this to me. It's making me insane. Does she truly want to prolong this? I suppose I can't blame her, after all of the pain I've caused. If it wasn't for me she wouldn't be here in the first place, after all.

I suddenly remember that I never even told Carlisle good bye.

The thought hits me like a ton of bricks as I stand and slowly follow Bella from the room. Marcus looks relieved that we're finally out of his hair, but I feel the disappointment emanating from Caius and the group of vampires huddled just outside of the door. It is curious, how living an eternity makes one long for violence. It's a desensitization that occurs over time, I suppose. It's safe to say that the twenty-first century has been a boring one for the Volturi, if this is their most exciting activity. Bella leads me down some hallways that I know by heart. It looks as though she knows them now, too.

It is strange, being led around by the person I had to protect for what felt like ages. Bella doesn't give anything away, though. She doesn't even turn around until we reach the end of the hallway. I recognize it to be Carlisle's old study. It must be Bella's now, for other objects line the walls that are distinctly foreign to me. She sits down in a large chair in the far corner of the room, only to stand up just moments later. I watch her silently, keeping close to the door as if I were going to run. As if I even _could _run.

Suddenly, she pulls something out from beneath her robes and throws it at me. It collides with my chest but I keep it from falling. I recognize it immediately to be my journal. She stares at me.

"You're so _stupid_!" she suddenly cries out, turning away from me. I sincerely hope that no one is close enough to hear us speaking, for it is exactly the opposite of what we are supposed to be doing. "That's your journal, isn't it?"

I only nod. After all, my name is written on the first page.

"Who's it about? Who are you writing to in these last few?"

"I don't know what you mean," I reply, lying blatantly.

"You address every entry _to _someone. It has to be _to _someone," she snaps back. She seems angry but there's also something else.

"Maybe it's to everyone –" I being, but she cuts me off.

"Don't give me that, Edward. Just tell me the truth." She can tell straight away that I'm lying. I pause for a few moments, clenching and unclenching my fists. I suppose it's now or never, anyway. It won't make a difference whether I tell her or not.

"It's to you."

"And you were never going to give it to me?" She's still angry.

"No."

"Why not?" _Still _angry.

"Because it was private, if you couldn't tell." I hold it close to my chest like a small child. "I guess that didn't stop you, though." The pages are ruffled. She read it. I can't tell whether to be mortified or relieved.

"You can't have something be private _and _written to me," she snaps. I notice she's come much closer to me in these last few minutes. "And, yes, you're right. It didn't stop me. I read it."

And then I expect to be dead but she's actually kissing me. Her arms are around my neck, and it's sort of strange because she's no longer warm or soft. I freeze up for a moment until she pulls me closer and I can feel every single line of her body beneath her robes. I kiss her hard then, because I don't have anything left and I _never _had anything left. It has always been hers.

"I love you," she gasps, and it's as though every part of me is filled. "You're so stupid, but I love you."

"I don't deserve it," I mutter.

"I know," she agrees. And that's that.

That's all that matters.

I feel every part of her that I can hold on to, and she's doing the same to me. The journal falls between us, completely forgotten. Her legs are wrapped around my middle and we are heading toward the only chair in the room when a knock sounds at the door.

All movement ceases and we stare at each other, waiting. We're both panting slightly. Bella's hair falls about her face in this ridiculously beautiful sort of way, and I'm distracted from whoever is behind the door with the need to touch it.

There is another, louder knock.

_Edward you better let me in that door right this second. _

I immediately recognize the tenor of the thoughts to be Demetri. Bella drops to the floor and moves closer to the door, still tentative.

"It's okay. It's Demetri," I say quietly, then step around her and open the door. Demetri slips inside and the door snaps shut with a quick click.

"Why are you still here?" I ask. "I thought. . ."

"I'm still here for you, Edward. I was contacted by Alice . . . friend of Carlisle's, apparently. Anyway, she said this is the only way you two would live. So here I am."

"You couldn't have told me this _beforehand_?" I almost growl.

"No, I couldn't. She said that you wouldn't make the same decisions. Edward, just shut up and trust me, okay? We have to work quickly."

I only nod. Bella looks both worried and bewildered. I mask my fear and focus on what Demetri says. _The only way you two would live_.

"Listen. We take you out the back way, fake a bit of a fight. When we get enough attention, I let you through and run back to Aro. I convince him to let you run because I will be able to track you down easily, and then it will be a punishable offense for running away from the Guard. Sound good?" Demetri is talking quickly. He checks his watch and frowns. "Come quickly, we're running out of time."

We chase Demetri down the hall and out to one of the more obscure exits. We stand in silence for a moment before Demetri signals. We immediately begin to fight. I am thrown over Bella by Demetri's arm, while she calls out in her struggle. We make eye contact and I jump up, pressing my shoulder into Demetri's chest and making an imprint with his body in the stone wall. I growl and snap at his neck. Bella takes over with her power. It then looks as though Demetri throws himself to the ground. We here a distant call and Bella relinquishes her grasp on Demetri.

"Run," he hisses, and that is all we need. We hurtle out into Volterra and down the cobblestone streets. Humans gasp as a whoosh of air rushes past them, though they do not see our bodies. We are miles out of Volterra before we slow our pace in the slightest. We make it to the airport and take the first plane anywhere.

"Edward?"

The plane is rising in altitude. She is the first to speak. I look toward her, watching the ground fall away from the window just behind her right shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"What on earth are you sorry for?" I ask, shocked.

"I lied to you."

I almost laugh.

"Well then I should be the sorriest person in the world, shouldn't I?" A chuckle manages to escape.

"I'm being serious," she says sternly. My laughter falls away.

"Sorry," I amend. "What did you lie about?"

"When I said I didn't love you," she begins, but trails off. I run my hand up and down her arm. She speaks again. "I did it because I was scared, and because I didn't want you to have to spend a hundred years with me, only to regret it."

How woefully similar we are.

"I forgive you," I smile, because she never even had to apologize.

We land in Turkey.

We visit many countries I can't possibly list. Eventually no one trails us. We eventually end up with Carlisle's coven. He has moved many times, and is currently settled in the small, lazy town of Forks, Washington. Bella says that she lived here once, when she was a human. Of course, all her relatives are long dead now. We even attend her old high school, which is sort of a laugh. Bella hates everything about high school. I once caught her trying to leave through the small window in the girl's bathroom.

Alice shows us how she elaborately plotted our escape. I remember to try and make an effort with her. After all, she saved both of our lives. She also shows us Demetri's suicide after placating Aro. He was smiling.

We never marry. We figure it's best that we don't. It isn't like that for us, anyway.

For us, it's different.

UNKNOWN POV

I run through the thick wilderness. They're still following me. I don't know who they are. It has to have been weeks now. They don't stop. They won't stop. I launch myself over a tree and fly through the air, the wind whistling around my body as I hurtle past solid objects. I land on the cushion of underbrush and take off again, jumping over lakes and rivers and streams like mere hurdles. They're steadily gaining on me. I don't know what I can do to stop them anymore.

I don't even know why they would want to kill me.

I zig zag through more forest, only to find myself at the top of a tall, sheer cliff. I could always jump in and swim, though the water looks treacherous beneath me and I am very tired of fleeing. I know that if I were to jump, they would simply jump after me.

These are not humans that I am running from; these are vampires.

I back toward the edge of the cliff and threaten to jump. My trained eyes watch as four or five vampires emerge from the dense underbrush, all of which are adorned with heavy black cloaks. Two of them step forward and move the cloaks in order to show their faces. It is a boy and a girl, and they both look disturbingly young. The girl smiles, her lips the color of ruby red.

"Hello. You're quite the runner, aren't you?" When she speaks her voice is soft and innocent like a young child. I am drawn closer.

"I'm good at it," I say abruptly, not wanting to give too much away.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"James," I reply. The vampires behind her are advancing. I begin to back toward the cliff again.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, James. You wouldn't mind coming with us for awhile, would you? Our leader has a great interest in meeting you." She begins to walk forward as if my answer doesn't even matter.

"What if I don't want to go?" I ask. I know this is dangerous. I can smell it.

Only moments after the last word escapes my mouth I am writhing in agonizing pain. Doubled over, I twitch on the forest floor. My body fights for a moment and then gives up, giving into the pain. Almost as quickly as it comes, it is gone. I move to my feet as deftly as possible.

She is smiling.

"Did you say something about not wanting to go?" she asks politely.

I shake my head, for I have a distinct feeling that she is the one who caused the pain.

"Fantastic," she grins, and we all head out of the forest together. We travel for many hours, even taking a plane. By the time we get to our destination it is pitch black outside. I know we are in Italy due to the airport, but beyond that I am lost. I stay close to these people, even though I have an idea that I will die at their hands eventually.

But I recognize power and I respect it.

We enter a small city and descend underneath it, through elevators and tunnels and all sorts of devices. Eventually we enter a very large room, where three decrepit vampires sit on great thrones made of stone. The young girl goes up and talks to the three, motioning to me only briefly before leaving. The rest of the vampires beside me trickle away, leaving me alone with these three vampires. The one in the middle—dark hair, polite smile—steps forward and beckons me over.

"James, is it?" he asks when within ear shot.

I nod.

"I hear you are a great tracker. It may be said that your gift is location, am I correct?" He speaks softly, slowly, but I can sense his excitement.

I nod again.

"Fantastic!" he exclaims. "I have a little job for you."

#

**Italicized quotes belong to Shakespeare's **_**Romeo and Juliet**_**. Har har, Mercutio being punny.**

**For the handful of you out there that read this little guy, thank you **_**so **_**much for spending your time doing so. I really appreciate that you all hang with me even though I'm still working on my writing technique. **

**I have some recs. I figure for the very last chapter I ought to send you somewhere else now.**

**First, Dead on my Feet by CescaMarie. This is definitely my favorite on my alerts, by far. I love her dialogue, and, especially, her Edward. I'm always eagerly awaiting her updates. **

**Grand Jete by stella luna sky. This one is just getting started but I'm sort of obsessed with stella luna sky's writing in general. No big deal or anything. **

**I'm also reading A Portrait of a Girl by Zors. I really like it so far. Totally recommend it (uh, obviously). Her Bella is totally headstrong and awesome. Also, she's pretending to be a dude.**

**Thanks guys!**

**See you next time?**

**J xx**


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